


i heard you in the wind

by exactly13percent



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Fae & Fairies, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Pagan Gods, Past Torture, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 59,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exactly13percent/pseuds/exactly13percent
Summary: The Magic Garden  AUThe garden is Andrew's place. The forest beside it is where Neil falls, with a vial in his hand and no clue where he is.-Neil knows he shouldn't stay in town, but Aaron gives him a place to stay, and there are others that Neil can't bring himself to leave. Others like Andrew, with his garden and his silence. So Neil stays and speaks to the flowers and birds, and Andrew begins to wonder about the strange man that speaks the language of rushing water and blooming roses.





	1. The Seed

**Author's Note:**

> art by [autumnalhogwarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumnalhogwarts/works) / [autumnalpalmetto](http://autumnalpalmetto.tumblr.com/)  
-  
betaed by [KarenF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatherineF/pseuds/KatherineF/works)  
title is [The Call](https://open.spotify.com/track/5WaKLQ9m0AgV3jB7JgfXmr?si=tuUk7hqWTbepbtxChGBo7Q) by Ruu Campbell

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184522567@N07/48757383807/in/dateposted-public/)

**Part 1**

_ **the seed** _

_ 1\. iberis sempervirens _

The garden is Andrew’s place.

He fits with the landscape, scattered with irises and rosemary. The basil is sharp and green; it greets him when he steps out his back door. The roses tilt their heavy heads toward the sun, exposing thorns running over the length of their thick stems.

Andrew is not stupid enough to believe that he belongs here. He is not foolish enough to think that he is part of the garden, like some magical being. 

He just fits.

The garden belongs to itself, and it works in ways most people do not understand. Even Andrew cannot explain why some flowers agree to be planted next to others, or why some are simply happier the closer they are to a certain herb. The garden is a machine of nature and it exists in an intricate network of turning leaves and waving stems.

There is one herb that Andrew’s eyes are always drawn to—a short plant, with crowded white flowers. The candytuft is always there when he comes outside. The herb does not whisper like the grass or chatter like the irises. It does not even sigh the way the poppies do. The candytuft is simply there.

It is most like him, he thinks.

This morning is a bright one. Andrew passes the candytuft on his way to the rosemary; he has plans for dinner and he needs some. His jar is empty.

The roses are reciting something to one another. Andrew does not understand what they are saying, but he has heard some of these words before. It must be something they have heard. The cadence sounds like poetry or lines from a play. Maybe it’s Shakespeare, from when Jeremy visited and decided to romance Jean when Andrew was still there and irritated.

That’s the thing. The garden speaks, and Andrew can hear it—but he cannot understand.

Andrew only knows how to inquire. He knows how to request a bloom or a plant, or ask a vine to move aside for him. They all answer, and he knows yes or no, but that is all he knows. He cannot understand what they might speak of when he is around.

The roses continue their conversation as Andrew reaches the rosemary, slowly crouching. He asks permission and they answer in turn, the same chiming note as always entering his mind in response.

As Andrew lines up his scissors, he hears something snap in the forest. His grip on the scissors tightens.

The garden did not alert him.

It does not even seem concerned now, though the grass buzzes distractedly as it ripples toward the disturbance. The irises are still chattering, though their heads tilt in an effort to eavesdrop.

Andrew stares into the forest. Nothing comes out.

The grass mumbles. There are scattered, excited words in its monologue, but Andrew cannot decipher them. He does not know them, except for one.

“Person,” Andrew echoes.

So long as they stay away from his garden, he does not care.

Andrew finishes with the rosemary and slides the freshly-cut herb into a jar. He takes it all the way to his cottage and places it on the windowsill, his scissors carefully set beside it.

The next thing Andrew does is reach into his pocket for a knife.

The sound in the forest bothers him. Most townspeople know better than to come near his garden, except for by the door at the shop side of his cottage. Hunters give Andrew’s cottage and garden a wide berth and by virtue of their avoidance, they stay away from the forest, too.

Wymack would probably give them a lecture if they tried, anyway.

Andrew walks back through his garden. His boots make little noise; the garden shifts to allow him through. Flowers bob and sway while vines curl inward, their ropy green bodies avoiding Andrew’s boots.

The forest is dense. It is untouched, and the trees are tall enough that he must tilt his head nearly toward the sky to see their tops. At first glance, there is nothing to see—no broken branches or evidence of a disturbance.

Andrew doesn’t trust appearances. He relies on the feelings of the earth and the living things that grow from it, even if he cannot understand everything they say.

Knife in hand, Andrew ventures into the forest.

It feels immediately different. Andrew’s garden is not tame, but there is a familiarity to the plants. A recognition of human life. The forest is not this way; it notices Andrew and tracks him, wary vibrations murmuring through the foliage. Perhaps his garden clings to him, because it is not long before the caution ebbs. The forest takes note of him as a passerby, but it does not claim him. He is allowed to walk the paths so long as he is not a threat.

There is no scent in the air—no blood, no gunpowder, no burning frenzy. Whatever has happened, Andrew does not think it is bad enough to make the forest defensive.

Still. Andrew is not a forest, and there are things he is defensive about that the forest is not.

There are no real trails in this part of the forest. Andrew only knows his way by invisible markers; shifts in terrain and the scattered wildflowers and plants that watch his approach. He could probably lose his way at night, if he wasn’t careful.

If he did not have perfect memory.

A branch snaps. Andrew turns toward the direction of the sound, a finger sliding against the hilt of his knife. He ducks under a low branch and steps carefully, practiced steps as quiet as he can make them without the forest’s help.

Andrew considers saying something—

—and then he cannot say anything, because he sees a face.

There is someone—something—there. A man, it looks like, perhaps Andrew’s age. Young. He has sunlight-gold skin and wide, blue eyes as bright as a fresh lake. There are freckles scattered across his face like rich soil. His hair is wavy and red, flyaway strands decorated with shining pearls of water.

He cannot be real.

The blue eyes lock onto Andrew. They hold recognition and something else more familiar—a caution; a wild streak, like some forest animal primed to either attack or dart away.

Andrew’s mouth opens.

The figure disappears.

_ 2\. thymus vulgaris _

Neil wakes feverish.

He jolts upwards with a gasp, a sour taste filling his mouth as if he has vomited. The sensation lingers, though Neil knows there is nothing in his stomach. There has been nothing in his stomach for nearly three days, now.

The world is tilted. Neil blinks slowly, gathering himself. 

He is lying sideways on the earth. He can smell dampness and green, as well as the lingering sharpness of evergreen trees. He is cold, but not as cold as he could be.

Neil can hear the voices of the forest. They are talking about him. They are talking about—

—Neil gasps in air, panic striking through him. His hands frantically slam onto the earth and immediately sting; he turns them to see a hundred minute scratches, pink-red and burning. He is not concerned with them.

It only takes Neil a moment to find what he is looking for at his feet. The bottle is unbroken; he breathes a sigh of relief as he reaches for it. The glass is clear and shining, but the glass is not important. The contents are.

Within, a small creature stirs. It has vaguely pink skin and searching limbs. Its head has strange, branching gills on either side.

It is an axolotl, but it is not.

“_ Hurt? _” Neil inquires.

The creature turns toward him, tiny limbs pressed to the glass. _ “No. Fine.” _

Neil nods distractedly. He pulls his legs to his chest as he takes stock of his surroundings—he remembers what the forest looked like from afar. He does not know where he is now. He could be miles deep, or right at the edge.

He has not been found. At least he has not been found.

Neil stands slowly. He can hear water nearby, and the grass is whispering about his awakening.

Speaking with the living—with animals, plants, elements—was never something Neil understood. He still does not. He simply knows what he can do, and he does it.

This is likely why the creature chose him.

_ “Close,” _it says.

Neil begins to walk toward the water.

The grass is saying something about a cottage. _ Curious, _ it says. _ Suspicious. _ Neil quickens his pace.

The water is a wide stream that tumbles softly over rounded stones, a burbling voice that seems to be constantly fading. Neil sighs and sinks to his knees at its edge, his aching limbs protesting.

“_ We’re here, _” he says. “Finally.”

The creature swims to the top of the bottle, bobbing.

Neil sets the bottle at his side. He takes a handful of water; it is cool and clear. When he tastes it, it is sweet, but there is a faint tang of salt. He splashes a handful against his face, blinking water from his eyelashes.

Finally, Neil reaches for the bottle. There is waxy, perforated paper attached to the top. He has to take a sharp rock to it, punching the seal through.

Neil lifts the bottle toward the sunlight streaming through a gap in the branches above his head. “_ May this home be your last. _”

The sunlight is blinding as it passes through glass and water. Neil lowers the bottle into the water, tilting it enough to let the creature out.

There is a prismatic burst of light from the water. It is nearly blinding; Neil squints as he leans back, one hand raised against its intensity. He hears a sigh, wordless and complete, and then the light fades.

There is a human figure sitting on the rocks of the stream. It is unclothed but unconcerned, one leg bent to its chest. Its face is distinctly incorrect; the eyes are too far apart, and the nose is strangely shaped. Its mouth is too wide, but there is nothing menacing about the disproportion. It simply looks awkward, like a rose imitating a daisy.

_ “You did well.” _

Neil lowers his chin onto his bent knee. He thinks the creature mirrored him because it thought it might look comforting. “_ I tried. I don’t know if we are close enough to the sea. _”

“_ We are _ .” The face turns sideways; its profile is just as strange. “ _ Have you never been this far? _”

“_ I have, once, _” Neil says quietly. If he breathes deeply, he can still smell the burning.

The being turns back to Neil. It shifts, its leg lowering as it leans close. “_ Too much has been asked of you. I suspect this is not the first time. _”

It will not be the last, Neil thinks, but that makes no difference. He is alive.

The being lifts its hand. Neil watches it linger by his face and nods. It feels cold against his skin, like the water.

“_ I will give you a gift worthy of you, _ ” the being says. “ _ Open your mouth. _”

Neil does not feel any fear. He has known this small god for some time, and he knows enough to understand that this is merely a transaction. A reward. This is not another person, and because it is not, there is no danger.

The being kisses him and Neil tastes water. The faint tang of minerals and salt swirl in his mouth, but it is not seawater, and he suspects that the being purposely did this.

It is over in a second. The only thing left behind is a potential; a strange, energetic hum that rings in Neil’s bones. He can see it behind his eyes if he closes them, like a phantom spot left from staring at the sun for too long.

“_ When you need me, I will be here, _ ” the being says. “ _ Do not forget your gift. _”

Neil hesitates as the figure begins to fade. “_ How will I know what it is? _”

“_ You will know, _” the figure says, and then it is gone.

Neil can still feel the potential. It seems to shimmer beneath his skin as he stands, uncertain what to do next.

It is then that Neil sees a face.

There is a man watching him. He cannot have been there for long. He is pale, from his skin to the barely-blonde hair pushed messily away from his face. His eyes look like the earth.

Neil does the only thing he knows how to do. He runs.

_ 3\. urtica incisa _

Andrew is silent. Aaron stands at the tiny stove, hand poised above an upturned plate that rests on a ceramic mug. There is a line of tension in Aaron’s back; his agitation is clear, although muted by his determination to focus on the tea.

When Aaron slides the plate off the cup, the bitter scent of the tea wafts toward Andrew. He stares sidelong at the offending substance, watching Aaron pour a generous amount of honey into its depths.

Aaron wordlessly holds the mug out toward Andrew. Andrew does not take it.

Aaron’s nails scratch against the ceramic as he grips the mug tighter. “Drink.”

Andrew barely rouses, a coiling response shivering in his chest. Aaron’s teeth are bared in a grimace all too quickly and he adds, “Please.”

Andrew holds his hands up, falsely placating, and takes the cup.

The tea tastes like shit. Even with the honey, the bitterness is apparent. Nettle. It’s never been his favorite. Besides, he hates bitter things.

Except for alcohol. And he doesn’t drink it for the taste, either.

“Do you think it was fae?”

Andrew burns his tongue as he chugs the tea. He doesn’t want it and hates every drop, but this will give him a tiny crack for leverage with Aaron. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron pushes away from the counter he is leaning against, restless fingers tapping his crossed arms. “I can ask Kevin if Wymack—”

“No. It wasn’t fae.”

And it is stupid to think that it could be. it wasn’t that far into the forest, and Wymack would have alerted everyone the moment he noticed fae in the region.

It is a forest, though. There are things deeper in the trees and the dirt, amongst stone and relics of things and people long gone.

It doesn’t matter who you are or how powerful you think you are. You do not venture far into the forests.

“Fine.” Aaron shoves his hair away from his face, glancing around the kitchen. “I’m going to need a few things before I go.”

Andrew stands and leaves his mug in the sink. He descends the staircase between himself and Aaron carefully, though he has walked it a thousand times. The cream-colored wall curves gradually, not quite a spiral but not entirely straight either. When his feet land on the ground floor, the wood creaks softly and a ray of light illuminates his shoe from the door to his left.

The shop is through a door before him, to the right of the entryway. It is open now, though there are never many visitors this time of day. Other than Aaron.

Kevin was the one that built the shelves. Seth did too, as usual, but Andrew has no feelings about Seth either way. He’s usually off somewhere ripping wood apart with his bare hands and being sad about his failed relationship. It’s pedestrian.

“Some flowers, I think,” Aaron says as they enter the shop. “A few herbs.”

“How specific and precise.”

Aaron sighs and passes Andrew a list. “Spring is coming. We’ll have visitors.”

By we, he means the town. There aren’t people that come to visit Andrew. He made sure of that.

Andrew glances at Aaron’s list and pulls a basket down from a hook by the side door. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows Aaron will follow.

The side door opens to a path that leads in two directions—one fork winds toward a greenhouse that functions as a guest house Andrew never uses unless Aaron needs to paint his house or Kevin wants to be closer to Wymack. The other branch of the path is a direct route to Andrew’s garden.

The garden is noisy. Not the way cities are, with volume, but instead with life. Bushes rustle and grasses whisper. Bees fly lazy paths above the rainbow of flowers. It is not unlike a city in some ways, with the sectioned areas for different plants, but everything is intertwined. There are no lines or fences. The garden grows together, and because it does, nothing fails or falls into disrepair.

Below the sounds of life, the garden speaks.

Andrew cannot understand it, except for two words. The rest is like a stream of consciousness, endlessly detailing things he neither knows nor understands. The flowers bob and whisper and Andrew is an unwitting party to their secret confessions, wonder and anger alike lost in translation.

“The chrysanthemums are brighter, this year,” Aaron says. He looks down at them as he walks by, fingers brushing against the petals.

Andrew has wanted to do that, before. Touch the softness of the flowers, as if that will help him know. Help him understand.

He knows all it would do is bruise them.

Aaron busies himself with wandering around as Andrew gathers the necessary items. He asks each time; requests permission to take, always pausing a moment longer after hearing the answer. Andrew is clipping the last stem of a peony when Aaron returns, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. Andrew already knows what he is going to say.

“If it is, no.”

Aaron scowls. “You said it wasn’t fae. If I go, at most I’ll find a ghost. Or a sprite.”

“Sprites aren’t powerful enough to manifest that size.” Andrew rises to his feet, leveling his twin with an even stare. “And if it’s a ghost, you should not disturb the body. You know that.”

“Well, I’ll take Matt,” Aaron says, tossing his hands up from his sides. “You’re the one that said it wasn’t fae. Don’t tell me you’re worried.”

“Oh, no. I don’t worry about you making stupid decisions. You make them either way,” Andrew says smoothly, turning away to walk back to his cottage.

Aaron huffs in disbelief as he follows. “I make the stupid decisions? Sure. Like I said, I can take Matt.”

“I’m not going to come in and save you.” It’s part true, so it’s not entirely a lie. “How many mistakes will it take to teach you not to do stupid things?”

Aaron’s mouth draws into a thin line. He passes Andrew and gathers his jacket from the coat hooks by the front door, jamming his arms through the sleeves. Andrew watches him silently as he wraps the flowers and herbs in paper, wrapping twine around the package.

When Aaron turns, some of the fire has left his eyes. “I will be careful. But we can’t leave this alone. We need to know.”

We, again.

“You know what mistakes cost you.”

_ 4\. alstroemeria aurea _

A night is not long to spend in the woods. The forest is surprisingly temperate and not many curious animals wander close enough to bother Neil.

Not that he’d be bothered. Neil has had his fair share of living in discomfort.

In pain.

The forest still murmurs about him, but the words are like distant ripples. The forest may be slow but it does not linger. Especially not on an intruder that it cannot distinguish as human or other.

Neil can hear murmurings in the distance. He follows them slowly, waking as he goes. Some part of him is reluctant to leave this forest yet—the axolotl god is still there, in the water, and Neil has the uneasy sense that he should not wander far from the small god. Not when he is still unsure about its gift.

_ Familiar, _ the forest says. _ Agitated. _

There is someone else in the forest. Neil pauses, his hand brushing the bark of an old tree. It scrapes him lightly, a reminder that this is no place for him. Neil steps around leaves littered on the ground, heel to toe, and tries to listen.

Neil is standing by the tree when he hears something crash through the foliage towards him. He can hear its panic—_ run, no stop, run, run _—and he knows it is a deer. Neil leaps through the bushes, darting out of the path he knows the animal is taking.

He emerges into a tiny clearing, where a pale young man stands frozen. The same face Neil saw just days before, but…

...different.

The man is startled. His eyes widen—they are more brown than green, Neil realizes—and then the sound of branches snapping thunders closer.

“Move,” Neil says. He reaches out and pulls.

It feels odd, holding someone. Like holding the sun. Warmth.

The deer storms through the clearing, panicked. Neil watches it go and hears the forest whisper its reassurances, doing what it can to stop the blind escape.

“Who the hell are you?”

Neil releases the stranger. His hands feel hot—burned, almost—and he thinks his face might be going the same way. The stranger’s breath comes in short bursts as he stands there, uncertain and alert.

He could lie.

He always lies. Lying is second nature. Lying comes to him like wind through the trees. Except…

...except.

Neil looks at the stranger, looks at his eyes, and sees the forest.

He trusts the forest.

“Neil.”

The stranger glances toward the trees in the distance. The path the deer made is still there, bent branches and broken twigs. “Are you...living here?”

It’s such an odd question that Neil can’t immediately answer. Something must be on his face; the stranger sighs, something unraveling. His guard is down. “It’s not illegal. I’m not going to report you for camping.”

“I’m not camping,” Neil says immediately. He wonders what about him looks like he would be. He is still barefoot, and his clothes are dirty and worn. His pants are ragged at the bottom and his sweater is torn, the soft wool knit snagged by his flight.

“Yeah, I can tell,” the stranger replies, one eyebrow raised. He bites his lip, hesitation returning to his expression. “You’re...living out here?”

_ Say no. _“Yes.”

The stranger exhales through his nose. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks down the deer’s path again, some complex equation playing out in his mind. “Okay. Come with me.”

“What.”

“Come with me.” The stranger frowns, nose wrinkled. “Look, you helped me. Just...at least let me get you food or something. I live alone. No one has to know.”

“Sounds like the perfect scenario to murder you.” _ Oh, that was stupid, _Neil thinks. He half expects the stranger to leave him.

But the man just snorts, unimpressed. “Or for me to murder you.”

Neil can feel something moving his lips. It might be a smile. He isn’t sure and he doesn’t care. He follows the stranger toward a path, the worn earth marking a route that people must take regularly. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Aaron.”

The forest is quieter as they reach the edge. Neil can still hear the murmur of disquiet at Aaron’s intrusion, but it has forgotten most of its uncertainty. Neil, however, seems to be compounding it. The closer he comes to people—to what might be a town, or a city—the more tension knots in his chest.

He has not been around people for some time.

Aaron must notice. He says, “I’ll promise not to take you anywhere you don’t want to go. If it helps.”

“Even if you did, I could get out.” It’s not quite a warning; not quite a reassurance. Neil steps onto the first stone of a path leading away from the forest. It is cool and damp against the soles of his feet.

“I’m not trying to make you distrust me,” Aaron replies, disgruntled. “I wouldn’t purposefully hurt you.”

Purpose and reality are different, Neil wants to say. _ And they rarely match. _

“Okay.”

Neil takes the silence as an opportunity to memorize the path. They walk along the stones in a winding trail that seems isolated, though Neil can hear the whispers of a road nearby. Heat and air give him a vague impression; it is not a highway but a paved road, isolated but well-kept. _Not a city, then._ _A small town._

The path they walk has been set between rows of trees, clearly planted as a passage between the forest and elsewhere. It is quiet and peaceful. In any other situation, Neil would love it.

There is something visible in the distance. Branches of the path winding in different directions. Aaron takes the furthest right—the one that leads closer to the town. Neil can hear the grass whispering about him. _ New. Red. Blue. Knows? Hears. _

“It’s not clean,” Aaron says suddenly. Neil almost stumbles. “I don’t have people over most times.”

Neil gives him a sidelong look. “I’ve been sleeping on the ground in the forest.”

Aaron squints. “You know, I have a friend I think you’d like.”

“Why?”

“You’re both dramatic.”

Neil doesn’t reply. He can see their destination now, a small cottage tucked within a well-kept clearing among the trees. It looks warm. Like every time you opened the door, there would be soup or a hot drink waiting on the table.

There are also a few herbs and flowers growing at the front, in a tiny square garden in front of the porch. They are recognizable, and they are talking.

The flowers that are chattiest are the alstroemeria. Lilies. They giggle and sway, excited gasps emanating from them as the crane to get a look at Neil. _ Red. Orange. Like us. Pretty. _

“Quit it,” Neil mutters. The last thing he needs is to hear the entire forest talking about him. Spreading the word.

Aaron glances over his shoulder as he unlocks his front door. “What?”

“You did it.” Neil blinks. “The alstroemeria. Your lilies look good.”

“You know them?” Aaron’s eyes glimmer with curiosity.

“Yes.” _ And now they know me. _

Aaron pushes his door open and beckons. Neil follows, taking slow footsteps, gauging the wood beneath his feet. He breathes in and out.

It is nice inside. Warm, but not hot. The front of the house is an open living room, spacious and sparsely furnished. Past the entry, Neil can see a small kitchen. To the right are a set of large double doors. Aaron opens them and Neil looks in, curious.

_ A doctor, _ Neil thinks, _ or a witch. _ Dried herbs hang from the ceiling. A large table at the center of the room is scattered with utensils, bottles, and books. There is a tiny stove top in one corner and an electric burner on a shelf. The shelves in the room are little boxes, precariously stuffed with empty bottles and bundles of dried foliage. There are trinkets and clocks, crystals and scraps.

Neil doesn’t mean to speak, but he says, “I love it.”

Aaron freezes in place. His cheeks redden and he looks away, muttering, “Thanks.”

“What is it you do?” Neil raises a hand to touch the lavender dangling by his ear. “Tonics?”

“Anything.” Aaron shrugs, gathering a few stray leaves of rosemary from his table. He dusts them into his palm and drops them into a shallow dish with a few other scraps. “Tonics, elixirs. Whatever is needed.”

“So did you come to town to be the healer?”

Aaron pauses. He stares into the bowl before him, but he is not looking at it. His right finger runs along the lip of the ceramic bowl, unthinking. “No. But it’s what I do.”

Neil knows better than to push. He plucks a tiny mint leaf from a shelf and slides it under his tongue. It is sharp in his mouth but it clears his mind and distracts his stomach. “You’re good at it.”

“And how do you know?”

“You have everything you need. It looks good,” Neil says, waving a hand around the room. “And it smells good.”

Aaron snorts. “Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything.”

Neil doesn’t answer. He could explain that the earth told him about Aaron—that the flowers outside say he has kind hands, or the trees murmur sedately about the people that return for medicine.

But this is a secret he cannot tell. Not even to someone as good as Aaron might be.

Not yet, at least.

“You need food,” Aaron says suddenly. “And a bath. And clothes.”

“I can’t pay you,” Neil says immediately. His hand curls around the edge of the table.

Aaron shrugs. “You don’t need to, remember? But if it really bothers you, you can help me gather a few things from the woods. Later,” he adds. “Tomorrow. When you’ve rested.”

Neil nods once. “Okay. I will.”

_ 5\. leucanthemum vulgare _

Neil is odd.

Odd, but not bad.

He looks better, after a shower and a change of clothes. Though once he’s clean, Aaron can clearly see a spidery white scar on Neil’s left cheek.

It’s a curse. Aaron has seen them before—marks of magic violence, either by accident or by malicious intent. There aren’t many things that can mark a person that way, and something tells Aaron it’s better not to ask. Not yet, at least.

Somehow, Aaron finds himself enjoying Neil’s particular brand of silence. It’s a quiet companionship; a patient lack of needing to say something. Neil works alongside Aaron to gather dry pine needles from the forest ground, but he doesn’t fill the space with words. He lets the forest speak around them, birds chirping and life humming lowly.

Aaron forgets to tell him to leave. Or rather, he doesn’t think to ask.

At least until Aaron is preparing to visit town for the weekend, combing a hand through his hair as he packs things into a basket. “If you want to buy any clothes from Allison and Renee, you should probably do that while we’re in town.”

Neil pauses with rosemary in his hands, one leaf pinched between his fingers. There is tension in his pose, but not enough to make Aaron think he’ll bolt. “Town.”

“Yeah. It’s small. I’m not going to parade you around,” Aaron says slowly. “I just need to drop something off with Matt and Dan. You don’t have to go, I just thought you may want to see it.”

“And Matt and Dan.”

“Friends,” Aaron says, confirming the unspoken question. “Most of my friends are in town. Most are...like me.”

“Witches.” Neil’s lips twist upward just a little. Like he thinks the word is funny.

Aaron nods. “Matt and Dan work with animals. Allison and Renee work with clothes.”

“Never heard of a clothes witch.”

“Neither had I.”

Neil turns the rosemary in his hand. He is silent for a long moment before he says, “I don’t have money, remember?”

Aaron crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. He could say plenty of things—that Neil has been helping; that Aaron enjoys his company and a new outfit won’t cost much. But Aaron has caught enough glimpses of Neil to guess that Neil wouldn’t readily agree to being paid for.

“Have you thought about what you might do? Work, once you’re settled?”

Neil stops turning the rosemary. His gaze is unfocused. “No.”

_ No to staying? Or to work? _

There’s an odd twist in Aaron’s chest. An unhappy rise that lifts in him. In response. He keeps his mouth shut, though, and waits it out. “Well, you helped make half my stock this weekend. You’re underqualified, so your rate will be cut, but you’ve earned enough for this trip.”

He’s being generous. He is also being dangerously stupid. He can practically hear Andrew telling him no.

But it’s his place and his…

...friend?

Something.

Neil sets the rosemary on the tabletop. His focus returns, sharp. There is steel in his gaze as he turns to Aaron, apparently set on accepting his fate. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Aaron doesn’t press the subject. He doesn’t point out that Neil doesn’t have to go, or that Dan and Matt are the least likely to question Neil’s appearance or history. Aaron simply nods and gathers his things, preparing for the walk into town.

When they step out, Aaron wonders what to say. Watching Neil, he wouldn’t guess that Neil is nervous or afraid. Neil looks most at home outside; there is a strange magnetism to him that Aaron blames for his decision to invite Neil to his home. The earth seems to pay attention when Neil walks across it. The wind curls around Aaron and Neil, a hushed whisper that seems to ask where they are going and what Neil is doing.

By the time the edge of town becomes visible, Neil is noticeably tenser.

“You can turn back,” Aaron says. There is an unwieldy twisting in his gut when he looks at Neil’s shuttered expression.

“No.” Neil’s fingers curl, pensive, and a tendril of some vine lying on the sidewalk coils with him. “I’m fine.”

He is not, but Aaron doesn’t push. Instead, he nods and silently leads the way.

There are few people out. They make their way between stores and stalls without much attention to spare for Aaron and his strange new companion. The town may move slowly, but its residents and visitors always have something to do. They don’t take much stock in gossiping or biding time on corners.

Matt and Dan’s storefront is near the center of the town’s shopping district. It is a well-kept clinic tucked away between a candle shop and a cafe. The signs on the windows advertise vaccinations for cats and dogs; there is a water bowl placed on the sidewalk just so.

Aaron swings the door open, soft bells chiming as he enters. Dan is already at the desk, her halo of coiled curls bouncing when she looks up. “Hey!” Dan smiles broadly, rising from her seat. “It’s been a while.”

“Not too long. Just a week,” Aaron says. She’s right, though—since Aaron’s accidental discovery of Neil, he hasn’t been into town.

Dan’s gaze falls on Neil. She evaluates him with the same openness she brings to everything else; there is nothing underhanded about her gaze. Dan would stop if Neil asked.

Neil does not, however. He returns Dan’s scrutiny with a careful observation of his own.

“Old friend?” Dan asks. She leaves the question open to either Aaron or Neil. It is a light, unhurried inquiry. If neither answered, she wouldn’t pursue it, though Aaron suspects she would catch him alone to figure out the truth.

“New,” Aaron says shortly. He looks back at Neil and wonders if this was a bad idea.

Somehow, Aaron wants to reach out. His hand wavers at his side and then suddenly, his fingers brush the back of Neil’s hand. It feels warm. There are tiny raised scars, the skin knotted just a little like tree roots under Aaron’s fingers. Neil catches Aaron’s eye and for a moment—

—for just a moment, Aaron thinks he sees a relieved little smile on Neil’s lips.

“I’ve been in town for a while,” Neil finally says. “I thought I’d come with Aaron. Meet some of his friends.”

Dan smiles and walks out from behind the counter. There is nothing threatening about her approach; she casually holds either side of the stethoscope around her neck and leans her weight on one leg as she stands before Aaron and Neil. “Well, it’s good to know the punk appreciates us.”

“Oh, shut up. I brought you some potions,” Aaron mutters. He can feel his ears turning red. He thinks Nei’s little smile is turning into a smirk.

“Why don’t you come back? We have a few guests,” Dan says, gesturing to the door beside the front desk.

Aaron doesn’t have to ask. Neil opens his mouth and says, “Sure.”

The clinic smells nice. Despite the rooms with oversized bathing sinks and pet food they pass on their way to the back, there is an air of cleanliness and something fresh, like an open field or sunny park. Aaron has never needed to visit the clinic aside from dropping off potions, but he isn’t surprised by the state of things. Dan runs a tight ship no matter where she is.

One of the last rooms in the back of the clinic is a glass-walled room with a series of wooden cubbies affixed to the walls. They are various shapes and sizes, and most of them are occupied. Standing in the room, back to the door, is Matt.

“Hey, babe. Aaron’s here,” Dan announces as she opens the door. Matt hums in acknowledgment, apparently occupied with something. “He brought his new...friend.”

Aaron sends Dan a sharp look for the pause but she just smiles and ignores him. Matt turns quickly, a syringe filled with some curious liquid poised in his right hand. “Hey, Aaron. Who’s your friend?”

“Neil. Is that a kitten?” Neil asks.

It’s the first unfiltered question Aaron has heard from him. Matt grins and steps aside to allow them a view of the tiny cubby he is standing before. “It is! She’s a stray someone brought in to us. We’re just keeping an eye on her until she’s cleaned up for adoption.”

Neil hums. He stands in front of the cage and suddenly, without warning, he meows.

Meows.

Aaron isn’t sure why it’s embarrassing to hear, but he knows his face is on fire. Neil is scratching the kitten’s head and Dan is staring wide-eyed at his back, silently mouthing _ oh my God. _

Matt turns to Aaron. “We’re keeping him. Can we keep him? Are you—?”

“No,” Aaron says vehemently. He’s not entirely sure what he’s denying.

Neil glances over his shoulder. “So do you use Aaron’s potions here?”

Dan clears her throat. “Sometimes. Mostly we use them at home. We operate an informal sanctuary. Our house is right at the forest edge and sometimes, we take in injured animals from the road in front of us.”

“That’s good,” Neil says quietly. Matt is still mouthing _ keep him. _

“Okay, well, time to go,” Aaron says quickly. “We need to get some clothes from Allison and Renee.”

“Clothes?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “What happened to the rest of his?”

Neil finally backs away from the kitten. “Aaron says I need more. Or better ones,” he amends, shrugging.

Matt gives Aaron a pointed, wide-eyed look. “Does he? Well, I’m sure Allison will enjoy the work.”

“She’s always looking for new victims,” Dan agrees. Her smile turns to Neil again and Aaron is reminded just how much of a mother she can be sometimes. “See us again, Neil. Any time.”

“Okay.”

Aaron leads the way out of the clinic. He repeatedly glances over his shoulder, somehow unable to shake the feeling that Matt or Dan will follow them out and ask more questions. Questions Neil won’t want to answer and Aaron won’t be able to lie about.

They make it out though, and Neil seems less tense than before. “They were nice.”

“Yeah. They are,” Aaron agrees. He used to think they were too nice for him.

Allison and Renee’s shop is a few blocks down and across the street. There are a few open doors along the way, the smell of pizza and various restaurant offerings wafting out. Aaron hears Neil’s stomach grumble distantly.

“Hungry already?”

Neil pointedly does not look at Aaron. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not trying to lie to me when we both heard that.”

“It’s not a lie. I am fine. I don’t need to eat.”

“What? You photosynthesize or something?” Aaron replies, unimpressed.

Neil finally gives Aaron his attention and a withering look. “No. I just know I can survive.”

It’s not the wording that gets Aaron. It’s the dead-serious way that Neil says it, like if Aaron asked, Neil could say exactly how many hours he could go without eating or drinking.

Like he has a record for how long he’s managed to survive on air alone.

Aaron frowns. “Yeah, well, you’re not camping. You’re staying with me. It’s not called surviving. It’s called living.”

The crosswalk light illuminates and Aaron strides across. Neil is too quiet and Aaron doesn’t want to look over and see just what kind of realization Neil is having. That’s for him. Aaron knows enough from experience to give Neil the space.

Thankfully, Renee is the one at the front counter when Aaron walks through the door. Her bleached white hair is pulled into a messy ponytail at the top of her head; the ends are a pastel rainbow that hang just to her jaw.

“Welcome back, Aaron.” Renee smiles and comes around the front of the counter. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

The shop is how he remembered it—soft carpet, comfortable couches, heavy curtained dressing rooms at the back. There are neatly organized clothes racks along the walls of the store and circular displays on the floor. The window displays have changed since Aaron last visited, winter into spring outfits with charmed flowers embroidered in strategic places. There is a low tune of magic in the shop, like a melody played on a flute.

“Allison is bringing in a few fabrics for some new projects. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

“Just some things for Neil.” Aaron gestures and then turns, suddenly aware that he didn’t check to see if Neil came in.

Neil stands suspiciously by the front counter, looking over the store as if he doesn’t trust any of it. Aaron almost laughs. _ It’s like he thinks something will bite him. _

Before Renee can reply, the back door opens and Allison enters. Her thick, honey-blonde hair is knotted into a messy bun atop her head. The sides are braided flat, a few bright glass beads twinkling throughout. She dumps an armful of gauzy and patterned fabrics onto a worktable by the front counter with an exaggerated huff.

“God, babe, I can’t wait to start with the silks,” Allison announces. She flicks out a panel of faintly pink silk that ripples like water. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“It is. And look—”

“Aaron! Been a while, bitch.” Allison snorts. She tosses the silk back onto her pile and leans on the table while contemplating him. “You’re not doing too shabby. Though you could stand to iron your things more often.”

“Right.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “I’m not here for me.”

“No shit.” Allison hums as she gives Neil a once-over. Neil is visibly suspicious, but Allison keeps her distance. For the moment. “Well, at least we finally have a beautiful subject! I bet he’d look absolutely gorgeous in the blue I just bought.”

“We’re not going to a ball,” Aaron complains. He is all too aware of Allison and Renee’s talents, but Allison can get carried away with her visions. “He just needs...you know, regular clothes.”

“You’re not the client. Shut up,” Allison says, waving a manicured hand at Aaron. When she turns to Neil, she seems to dim by a few degrees, somehow less imposing and energetic. “So. What do you want?”

Neil glances at Aaron and Allison shakes a finger. “No, no. I’m asking you. You’re the one I’m dressing.”

“I...don’t buy clothes.”

The shop is silent. Aaron prepares for a full display of horror and disbelief but somehow, instead, Allison simply nods.

“Why? No interest? Or no opportunity?”

“It’s not...there are more important things to take care of,” Neil supplies.

“All the time?”

Neil is quiet. Aaron can guess that he’s trying to figure out how much to say while giving away as little as possible. Allison and Renee must recognize it as well; they’re already roaming the shop, pulling hangers off the racks.

“Most of the time,” Neil finally says.

Renee carefully folds a shirt over her arm as she asks, “What will you be doing? What is your work?”

Neil looks to Aaron once again. Allison either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “He’s working with me,” Aaron says. “Mostly indoors.”

“But I go out all the time,” Neil adds. “I’m in the forest a lot.”

Allison hums thoughtfully and finally tosses her stack onto a sofa. “Okay. Overalls because garden work.”

Aaron prods at a sheer button-up with carefully embroidered flowers. “And the silks and mesh?”

“Fashion, obviously.”

“Try them on,” Renee tells Neil. “You don’t have to take anything. But give them a chance. We charm the stitching; they’ll be good luck.”

Neil tentatively piles the clothes into his arms and heads for one of the changing rooms.

It only takes about one minute for Allison to turn on Aaron. “Where’d you find him? Cute, but quiet.”

“In—in town,” Aaron says quickly. He’s fully aware of what it would sound like to say _ in the forest. _ “He just doesn’t like being interrogated.”

“That one has a history,” Allison says, quieter than before.

“Yeah.”

It’s not as if Aaron is blind. He can see Neil’s curse marks, the spidery white scars tracing across Neil’s cheek and limbs. Something happened. Something bad.

But Neil isn’t dangerous. As stupid as it might have been for Aaron to take him in, he knows Neil isn’t dangerous; knows it in his gut with a certainty he’s never really felt before.

Aaron isn’t sure why he’s so sure about Neil. Maybe it’s the way Neil draped a blanket over Aaron when he fell asleep on the couch two days ago. Maybe it’s something else.

Neil emerges from the changing room. He’s wearing one of the button-ups, a loose, light ivory cotton. The overalls he’s wearing are a vintage wash and they somehow fit him perfectly, the shorts rolled a few inches above his knees.

“Oh my God,” Allison gasps. “Was I right or was I right?”

“You look nice,” Renee says. She smiles softly—the kind of smile that usually melts the people it’s aimed at—but Neil’s eyes dart away.

_ He’s uncomfortable with the attention. _ Aaron waves his hand dismissively and paces toward the changing room. “Great. Well, I’m sure your tailoring is impeccable. We’ll just take a few things.”

“What? It’s been so long since we’ve had someone new do a fashion show for us!” Allison crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on. We won’t ask him to do it again.”

“Don’t ask at all,” Aaron replies. He steers Neil toward the dressing room.

Neil’s voice is low when he says, “I don’t mind. If—”

“Yeah, you do. Don’t lie to me.” Aaron bites down on his tongue harder than he means to. He can taste a hint of copper. “You don’t have to do shit if you don’t want to. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

Something about Neil’s blue eyes on Aaron says _ thanks _. Aaron thinks it’s probably all in his head.

_ 6\. citrus limon _

Aaron goes to visit his supplier about once a week. His supplier and his brother, he once mentioned. It was a casual thing and Aaron never spoke about the man again, but Neil had the impression that Aaron didn’t like his brother too much.

At ten o’clock in the morning, a month since Neil’s arrival, Aaron returns from his weekly trip for supplies. He stops in the doorway, arm weighed down with a full basket of herbs and flowers. “What were you just doing?”

Neil stands in the doorway of the kitchen in his socks and pajamas—one of Aaron’s old shirts—and stares back at Aaron. He takes a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich before he replies, “Waiting for you to get back.”

“Productive.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “Help me string these up?”

Neil holds his sandwich in his mouth and takes the basket from Aaron. The work room at the side of the house is cleaner than when Neil first arrived. Two weeks into his stay, Neil woke up at two in the morning and decided to organize it. Aaron had come in at six in the morning, still bleary-eyed and stared. _ Come back to bed, weirdo. _

The living situation is unusual. Aaron has a pullout couch in his combined bedroom-living room space. He told Neil he’d never used it, almost defensively, before he offered it up as space for Neil to live.

Neil had asked about the tiny guest cabin beside the main house and Aaron had just said, _ it’s not for me, or you. _ Neil assumed it meant it was for Aaron’s brother and left it at that.

“How’s the potion?” Aaron asks.

Neil shrugs and winds string around a bunch of rosemary. He pulls his hand back and takes a bite of his sandwich. “It’s fine. You weren’t gone that long.”

“Yeah, well. He wasn’t there. Left my supplies on the porch.”

Aaron frowns while he unpacks his basket. Neil almost doesn’t ask, but—

—well. He might be developing a soft spot for Aaron. _ Bad idea… _

“Is that strange?”

“Yeah.” Aaron sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “He’s always there. Always.”

Neil shrugs. “Maybe he went out with someone.”

Aaron winces so hard Neil wonders if he’s about to vomit. “No. Fuck, no.”

Neil holds his hands up, one still gripping his sandwich. He starts to ask why it matters and then he hears a creaking on the front porch.

His first thought is that they have a customer, but then he hears a key jangling. Aaron’s brow furrows for all of one second and then he blanches, horror flooding his features.

“Fuck,” Aaron hisses. “Andrew!”

Neil is about to take a bite of his sandwich again when Aaron suddenly shoves him out the door of the workshop. “Go,” Aaron whispers fiercely. “Go! Hide!”

_ Why? _ Neil glances over his shoulder, bemused. Aaron shoos him away with frantic motions. Neil snatches another sandwich from the pile he made in the kitchen before he is exiled.

Neil’s socks muffle his footsteps as he walks to the bedroom. He crams the last half of his first sandwich in his mouth and sets the other on a nightstand. Carefully, quietly, Neil slides the window up. The tree outside yawns and grumbles.

_ Visitor… _

_ “Who?” _Neil asks.

The tree makes a lazy stretching noise. _ Same… _

It must be the brother, Neil thinks. He crouches and rests his chin on the windowsill, wishing the window faced the front of the house. The grass below whispers about the visitor, but the cacophony of its voice is too much to listen to. Neil can’t pinpoint any words but _ visitor _ and _ same _.

Nature isn’t being helpful. Neil pulls at the crust of his sandwich and feels a spot of jelly land on his hand. He licks it but his skin already feels sticky.

The sound of footsteps echoes from downstairs. Neil can barely hear voices. He holds his sandwich in the air and presses his ear to the floor.

“...ere.” It’s a stranger’s voice, distant, almost too quiet to hear.

Aaron answers louder. Too loud, Neil thinks. He’s doing a bad job of being covert. “No. I have work to do. I’m not throwing a party.”

“I di...say...re.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one that missed our appointment.”

Silence. Neil takes another bite of his sandwich; a drop of jelly lands on his cheek as he lifts the sandwich back into the air.

Aaron’s brother—Andrew, that was his name—says something. It’s a muffled, extended reply to Aaron’s comment. Neil can hear Aaron attempt to cut in once or twice, but he quickly gives up.

The footsteps approach the bedroom and Neil pauses to look over his shoulder and toward the bedroom door.

He has a few options; he could try to hide and risk being caught hiding, or he could not hide at all. If he didn’t hide, Neil suspects he would be thrown out the window by Andrew. Or maybe Andrew would get into a fight with Aaron. He’s not sure.

There aren’t many options when it comes to hiding. Neil chews slowly, mouth sticky, and considers his choices. There’s the tiny gap under Aaron’s bed. There’s a space under Aaron’s desk. Too obvious. There is a wardrobe by the window, but Neil isn’t sure he could fit inside without making a mess of the shoes lined up on the bottom.

The voices come closer and Neil sighs. He shoves more of his sandwich into his mouth and starts to climb onto the wardrobe. There’s barely enough space atop it for him to huddle, but Aaron keeps a planter exploding with Boston Fern on it and Neil can (sort of, badly) hide behind the foliage.

Neil is just arranging himself and his peanut butter and jelly sandwich when Andrew slams the door open.

Andrew looks just like Aaron, and also nothing like him at all.

He is dressed in black: faded black pants (not jeans,) a black work shirt that is open, a black tank beneath it with a ragged neckline, and dirt-smudged black sneakers. He has several piercings on his left ear.

Andrew’s arms are also covered in…

...flowers.

Neil can hear them humming softly. They’re odd-looking armbands, green leaves clustered and tiny flowers peeking out in sporadic bursts of color. Andrew moves as if they don’t exist, but the flowers cheerfully string a careless melody as Andrew shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Have something to hide?” Andrew asks. He slowly walks backwards; it must be an attempt at being menacing, but from Neil’s spectator seat, it looks silly.

Aaron’s eyes dart toward the window. “No.”

_ We need to work on his poker face. _

Andrew immediately goes to the window. “What’s this?”

“The ferns need air. Space. You should know,” Aaron retorts.

Andrew fixes Aaron with a level stare. “Sure your secret didn’t hop on out?”

“What is this? Am I your teenage son? I don’t have to tell you shit.” Aaron turns away. Neil can see him scanning the room for any sign of Neil.

Neil takes a bite of his sandwich and watches Andrew cross his arms over his chest. A few of the flowers _ oof _quietly before continuing their song.

“No? You sure seem to have a short-term memory,” Andrew says. His tone is dangerously carefree. The flowers’ song pitches up a few octaves, a little nervous in its melody.

Almost like they’re saying, _ haha, so funny, calm down Andrew?? _

Aaron throws his hands up. “Well, look all you fucking want. It doesn’t change anything.”

Neil takes another bite and then—suddenly—he sees a drop of jelly glob at the corner of his sandwich. It wiggles threateningly and Neil tries to move to save it. He’s too late.

The jelly splotches onto the dresser below Neil. He stares at it and wills it to go away.

Andrew turns right toward the dresser—

—and doesn’t see it.

“I’ll find out. It’s easier if you tell me.”

“Tell you what? That I have a life?” Aaron shakes his head. “I’m not harboring a criminal, Andrew. Give it a rest.”

“That’s for me to decide. We both know your track record.”

Neil stills. _ Now, that’s interesting. _

Aaron stares his twin down as Andrew leaves the bedroom, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Don’t bother. I know my way out.”

When the front door shuts a few moments later, Aaron sags against the wall. “Neil? Where—”

“He seems disagreeable.”

Aaron shouts an expletive and darts to the side so quickly he smacks his arm on a bookcase. He rubs it resentfully as he looks up toward Neil, disbelief and exasperation clear on his face. “Really?”

“Neither of you saw me.”

“Yeah, well,” Aaron mutters, scowling. He looks at Neil for a long moment and finally asks, “Are you eating a fucking sandwich in my bedroom?”

Neil takes a bite and says, mouth sticky, “M’wash hungy.”

“Do me a favor,” Aaron says miserably. “Stop talking.”

There’s a knock on the door before Neil can reply. Aaron stares in its direction, disbelief written across his face. Neil follows him into the foyer until Aaron holds a hand up. “Don’t. I don’t know who it is—”

“—and you don’t want them to know about me.”

Aaron hesitates. Maybe he’s feeling guilty; Neil can’t tell. All he knows is the way Aaron’s hand lingers on his arm for a moment too long.

“Wait in the shop.”

“I don’t mind,” Neil says. The words come out before he can process them. They tumble from his lips like the river he knelt at and Neil wonders if this is the god’s gift. _ It said I would know. How? _

Another knock. Aaron ignores it, brow furrowed as he looks at Neil. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t care if people know I’m here. I already met Dan and Matt. I went into town. It’s not like I’m a secret.” 

_ And… _

Neil swallows past the acid on his tongue telling him this is a bad idea. “Unless you don’t want to.”

The space between admitting and hearing an answer stretches oddly like a vine clambering for the sun. There’s a similar strain in Neil’s chest, as if he has been running for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

Aaron nods once. “Okay.”

It’s a beautiful thing, feeling like someone—

—what? _ Wants me? _

And then Aaron opens the door, and Kevin is standing right there.

Neil wants to laugh. Of course it would be too simple to think everything was fine. Of course it would be stupid to imagine he could get away with having one thing in life, one good thing, because that is never how it works.

Kevin has his hands in his pockets. He glances at Neil; the sun illuminates his cheekbones and a strange dusting of gold powder that rests on them. His eyes are caramel-brown and unmoved. He is wearing an unbuttoned silk shirt and dark denim, but it is his piercings Neil notices. There are delicate, crystalline earrings of fine wire and flower gems hanging toward Kevin’s shoulders. They seem to glow from within.

Neil remembers when Kevin flew. He remembers the wings that seemed to manifest from Kevin’s back, tanned skin red and worried from the healing magic scars.

Kevin flew up, out, away from the Court. He did not come back. Not while Neil was there.

“I didn’t realize you had a new partner,” Kevin says. He does not look at Neil again.

_ He doesn’t remember me. _

Neil almost collapses. There is a complex miasma of emotions flooding his veins; relief that Kevin does not remember, suspicion that Kevin is pretending, and something else. Something almost bitter and painful that Neil can’t quite place.

Aaron shrugs with one shoulder. “Neil’s a friend. He’s new in town.”

Kevin hums, short and dismissive. “Jeremy and Jean are back tomorrow. I just wanted to come by for a few things before they get home.”

“They are? They’re early,” Aaron says.

There is something about the way Kevin says the names that makes Neil’s chest hurt. There’s a life, a light in Kevin’s eyes that is so different from anything Neil has seen in him before. Like the gold dust on Kevin’s face. Something shimmering.

“I think they may try to come by Oressa, but there was a storm the other day. It would be faster to take the road through Berino,” Kevin adds, his lips pulling into a faint frown. “I wish I could send them a note, but I wouldn’t know if it would even reach them.”

Perhaps the peanut butter has cursed his tongue, or maybe Neil is still seeing Kevin and remembering the past. He opens his mouth and says, “I can do it.”

Aaron turns to look at Neil, brows drawn together. “What? N—”

“Not me, personally,” Neil continues. _ Shut up, shut up, shut up. _Every cell in his body tells him to hide or stop, but Neil feels his tongue unraveling in his mouth, all the words falling from where he keeps them curled into knots. “But I can get a message to them. Guaranteed.”

“How?” Kevin asks. He looks at Neil—really looks—and Neil wonders if he spoke because he thought it might make Kevin remember.

It might make the fallout unavoidable, and then it would be over with. Done.

Neil lifts one shoulder in a nervous shrug. “Birds.”

Kevin shares a look with Aaron, unconvinced. “Birds?”

Neil turns away, already searching for pen and paper. “Aaron? Do you have—”

“Yeah. Hold on.”

Aaron quickly walks past him and into the shop. He pulls a few drawers in the corner desk open until he finds a paper and envelope, worn and stained with flower pollen. Neil wrinkles his nose. 

“Oh, shut up,” Aaron mutters.

Neil perches on a stool by the worktable and smooths the paper with one hand. “What do you want it to say?”

Kevin nervously drums his fingers against his thigh. “Why don’t I write—”

“It won’t work that way,” Neil interrupts. “It has to be my magic.”

“Fine.” Kevin shakes his head once and looks out the window. “Just...tell them I’m waiting. Not—not to rush, though. Just...be safe, and careful. And take the road through Berino. It’ll be faster.”

Neil lowers the pen to the paper.

It’s been a while since Neil has been around Kevin. He really doesn’t know this Kevin at all—the one whose eyes light up at the mention of two names—but that is not the important part.

The important part is being no one and nothing, and letting someone else speak through him.

Neil lets his hand move across the paper. He barely registers the slope of his handwriting; he doesn’t recognize the arch to the letters or the impeccable order of the cursive.

It isn’t his handwriting, after all. It’s Kevin’s.

The words aren’t Kevin’s, though. Not quite. They are not what Kevin said, but they are what he means. What he feels. Which is why Neil studiously unfocuses his eyes and concentrates only on staying within the margins of the paper.

When it is done, Neil passes a hand over the paper. The ink dries immediately, an imperceptible charm locking the words in place. Neil fold the letter in even parts, his thumb smoothing over the edges.

“Is that what you do?” Aaron asks quietly.

“What? Word magic?” Neil’s mouth twists in an ironic smile. _ When have words ever given me anything but pain? _“I guess.”

_ You always know just the wrong thing to say, Josten. What a fucking blessing. _

_ One would think you’d learn the right thing to say. _

Neil slides from his seat and walks toward the back door. Aaron and Kevin follow while Neil continues barefoot into the backyard.

“Wait. What if it rains?” Kevin asks. He waves a hand sharply. “How would a bird even—”

It would probably be smart to answer, but Neil prefers talking to the birds. He holds his hand out before him, palm facing upward.

_ It’s been a while. _

When Neil calls, it does not sound like words. Not to others and not to him. To Kevin and Aaron, it probably sounds like imitating bird calls. To Neil, it is a language, but it is different.

_ “Would someone deliver this for me?” _

The question does not have a sound for every word. It is a short, melodic phrase; the tune of a question and the elements of _ delivery _ and _ letter. _

The real challenge is finding acceptance. In his other places, Neil had time to develop understanding. Make allies of the bluebirds and rabbits. He could ask a favor and receive an immediate answer. Here, Neil is a stranger. A stranger that speaks the language, but a stranger nonetheless.

It surprise Neil when a small dove flutters onto his hand. Aaron makes a soft, surprised noise. Neil looks at the bird and says, _ “Thank you.” _

_ Aaron. Seed. Good. _

Neil laughs. It comes out of nowhere, burbling and awkward, but it fills him with a warmth he can’t explain.

“What?” Kevin frowns.

“Aaron,” Neil says. “She likes you. She says you give the birds seeds.”

Aaron’s ears are turning red. It’s funny. He furtively glances away, as if he is somehow embarrassed to have made friends of the local wildlife. “Oh. I—I mean, yeah. Of course. She’s...welcome?”

_ “He is nice,” _ Neil agrees. The dove bumps her head against his fingers, impatient. _ “This letter, please. Jean and Jeremy. _”

The dove waits patiently for Neil to affix the letter to her leg, a piece of twine threaded through a hole in the corner of the envelope. The dove grasps it in her feet and then takes off, wings flapping and a soft call escaping her as she goes.

“They’ll get it,” Neil says. “You don’t have to worry.”

Kevin nods, something distant and distracted in his eyes. He scrutinizes Neil for a silent moment before he asks, “Do you do this often?”

“What? Letters?”

Kevin looks at Neil as if he’s an idiot. Neil gets the feeling this is a common thing. He wonders where the polite child he knew once went. Not that he can blame Kevin. If Neil had escaped too, he would have been just as rude for the rest of his life. He would have turned his back on everything the fae drilled into him when he was at the Court.

“Yes,” Kevin says bluntly. “Letters, obviously. You could make a business of it, especially out here, where service is terrible.”

“And people are hopeless romantics,” Aaron adds drily, giving Kevin a pointed look.

Kevin ignores Aaron and waves a hand toward the sky. “You imitate their call, but how do they know where to go? Or who to find?”

Neil stares at Kevin.

_ Does he not get it? _

_ Do neither of them? _

It isn’t a bad thing if they don’t understand. In fact, it would make things simpler. But Neil waits a beat for the inevitable realization—

—and it never comes.

Somehow neither Kevin nor Aaron seem to understand that Neil can speak in the language of the earth.

So Neil just says, “Magic.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

_ 7\. olea europaea _

Jeremy and Jean aren’t opposites the way people say they are.

Jeremy is sunshine. He is gold of skin and hair, and especially gold in heart. It’s the only reason Aaron can think of that he puts up with both Jean and Kevin. Jeremy wears a glass orb at his neck that seems filled with the same sunlight that glows on his body. He has bright, honeyed eyes and a quick smile.

Jean is quiet. Withdrawn. Yet despite not being a social butterfly, he craves connection. He once gave Aaron a glass bottle he found on the beach because he thought it would be good for potions. Jean wears a crystal at his neck and other, small gems on tiny braids in his hair. Jean has careful hands and soft footsteps.

It’s Kevin and Jeremy that are really the opposites. Kevin is foolish; he only sees one path to his destination. Jeremy is not so rigidly pragmatic. He is flexible, and it is easy for him to see the use in pretending when it will benefit him or the ones he loves.

Jeremy and Jean would both tell white lies to Kevin’s face if it meant he could think he was okay at cooking, because they would know how important it is for Kevin to feel normal. Human.

Kevin would not do the same because it wouldn’t cross his mind to coddle anyone.

All this is what comes to mind when Aaron greets the trio as they enter his home three days after Kevin’s letter was sent out.

“Thank you, by the way,” Jeremy tells Neil. His dimples show even though he’s not smiling with his teeth.

Neil looks passive but Aaron can clearly read the tension in the way he holds a glass bottle. Like he’s going to break it against the bookshelf and ward off the others if need be. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

“It wasn’t difficult,” Neil says. He’s like Kevin in that way. Aaron wonders if Neil knows what a compliment is.

“Well, it wasn’t necessary, so you went out of your way,” Jeremy says. He lowers his voice when he does, obviously trying to stay out of Kevin’s earshot. “The road back wasn’t that bad.”

Neil seems to perk up a little, as if the concept of being deceptive or troublesome interests him. Aaron reminds himself to check his ink supply later to see if Neil snatched a bottle again.

“You’re living here, then?” Jean asks. He leans against Aaron’s work table, impossibly long legs crossed leisurely at the ankles. His gray eyes flicker over the room, unfocused and lazy.

“I am,” Neil says cautiously. His gaze immediately darts to Aaron as if gauging whether he’s made a mistake.

Aaron shrugs. “I have space. There’s no point in him renting a room. It’s expensive.”

“If you plan on staying, though, wouldn’t you want a place of your own?” Jeremy asks.

It’s a probing question veiled with a smile and casual tone. Aaron nervously taps his fingers against the tabletop. He hasn’t exactly sat down with Neil and talked about the future, aside from the idea that Kevin had about making a business of sending letters. Neil isn’t the talkative type.

And maybe Aaron is used to him, now.

A little.

Neil silently polishes the bottle in his hands. He stares at it, apparently absorbed, a finger running over the lip of the glass. Aaron can practically hear Neil’s thoughts clamoring for attention.

“I guess.”

Somehow, Neil doesn’t sound happy.

Jeremy, Jean, and Kevin leave after a few minutes of browsing Aaron’s stock. Aaron promises to visit for dinner and then the house is silent again, the energy ebbing as the trio depart. It feels more like home when it’s mostly silent, the only thing breaking the silence the sound of Neil arranging dried herbs where they hang from the ceiling.

Aaron chews at his bottom lip. He is not a fan of starting conversations, but—

—but. 

“You can stay, you know. If you want.”

Neil pauses for a second, blink-and-you-miss-it, and then he begins to tie a bundle of rosemary with twine. “I already am staying here.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Aaron snorts. He feels like he’s said it a hundred times since Neil came to stay with him. “I mean—I know some people don’t like living alone. I’m just saying you don’t have to.”

Somehow, once the words are out, they feel a lot more weighty than Aaron thought they would.

But they’re true.

It wasn’t long ago that Aaron was living with someone and still felt alone. Wasn’t long ago that he swore off company because it was just too loud and he couldn’t bring himself down to earth. He constantly felt like an overfilled balloon bumping against the rafters, bruise after bruise layering up until he deflated and sank down to the earth.

People were exhausting. Certain people.

Neil is not. He’s not.

“I was never supposed to be here,” Neil says. It almost sounds scared. It’s quiet, too, like Neil thinks if he whispers he can get away with pretending he never said it.

Aaron drops the stack of papers in his hand onto the table and walks around the edge toward Neil. Aaron hesitates there; if it were anyone else, he might know what to do. Jeremy would welcome a hug. Kevin wouldn’t. Jean would allow a hand on his shoulder, so long as it was slow and obvious and he had time to refuse.

Neil…

...Neil is new. Different. Aaron doesn’t know what he knows about Neil, yet.

Aaron’s fingers curl around the edge of the table. He won’t touch. Yet.

“I don’t know if anyone is supposed to be in this town,” Aaron says. “I wasn’t. But I am, and I have work here.”

“You have friends.” Neil’s mouth twitches like he is laughing, but not out of joy. It’s as if he’s laughing at himself.

“Yeah. So do you, now,” Aaron says shortly.

Neil inhales sharply, a barely-audible jerk that Aaron can sense rocks Neil to his core. _ Is it that unusual? Friends? _

It’s another thing for Aaron to learn, to know about Neil and tuck away somewhere secret. He thinks he feels a little better about how to say things. _ If I don’t make it a big deal, neither will he. _

“They are your friends,” Aaron repeats. “They are.”

Neil absently rolls an acorn across the table. He glances up at Aaron, eyes sharp but uncertain. “And if I do live somewhere else? What about…”

_ Us? _

Even as he finishes, Neil looks like he wants to take it back. Like he would rather swallow the words again and throw them up alone later, somewhere quiet where no one would hear. No on but the trees and their silent, watchful company.

Aaron has a feeling Neil has been in silent, watchful company too long.

“Don’t go. If you don’t want to,” Aaron adds. “You don’t have to. But if you do...well, you don’t have to go far.”

Neil nods. “Not far.”

_ 8\. calluna vulgaris _

The third day of building, Jean narrowly misses hitting his head on a beam. Jeremy laughs but insists on checking it anyway, fingers combing through Jean’s blue-black hair.

In the days since Neil met Jeremy and Jean, he’s seen them often. They started work on the house with Kevin and the second day, Matt had appeared as if by magic, joking about how left out he felt when he heard the others were working without him.

There are a few rough crystals scattered around the perimeter of the lot they’re building on. Jean brought them the first day because he said _ the more light there is, the cleaner it will be. _ Neil didn’t argue. He knows better than to argue with a witch that knows their magic.

_ Jeremy is the sun, _Kevin said when they started. Neil had stared at him for a full minute because it sounded to romantic to be coming out of Kevin’s mouth. It was only after they began building that Neil realized it was also true. Jeremy soaked up every ray of light while they worked and instead of tiring, he seemed to be energized.

Despite all the people around him, Neil doesn’t feel suffocated. Maybe it’s because everyone has the house to focus on instead of Neil. Or perhaps they all have their experience with strange strangers, because Neil is left mostly to his own devices and projects while everyone else chatters and works.

Neil has never seen a house built from scratch before. He’s lived in shells and mansions, but he has never seen a house raised from the ground this way.

He’s never had his own house.

Jean appears at Neil’s side suddenly, a series of plywood boards in his hands. “For the bedframe.”

Neil looks up and realizes the house looks like a house. It hasn’t been long, but it’s hardly missing anything. It needs windows, perhaps, and the front and back door. Appliances. But the house has walls now and rooms, too, even if they are empty and strange.

“Thank you.” Neil thinks he waited too long to speak and maybe he’s said more in the two words than he meant to.

Jean crouches slowly and lays the boards in his hands on the floor. He drapes his arms over his bent knees and looks around, slowly taking in the same thing Neil did. “It’s a good house.”

“Yeah. It is.”

_ I don’t think I deserve it. _

“The place we live—Jeremy and Kevin and me—it’s big. But it was already there. It was Jeremy’s,” Jean says. “Kevin added things, but it’s Jeremy’s.”

Neil crosses his legs, one of them bouncing agitatedly. “Really. I didn’t think Kevin would accept anything from someone else.”

“I know. But he did, because he loves Jeremy.” 

Neil’s leg stops bouncing. He doesn’t move at first; some part of his brain tells him that if he doesn’t, Jean may not notice the flooding sense of guilt flooding Neil. The feeling of some foreign emotion that feels warm invading his veins, inching out the guilt and replacing it with something else.

_ Because he loved Jeremy. Loves him. _

Acceptance is a funny thing. A luxury, Neil always thought, and one he couldn’t afford. Acceptance meant thinking about something, deciding how to feel and how to act—all things that took precious time.

But maybe Neil can accept this house. This gift.

These people.

“How long have you all been here?” Neil ventures. _ Do any of you remember? _

_ Do you remember me? _

Jean watches Jeremy sing from atop a ladder. There is a tiny smile on his lips that Neil has never seen before. It takes Jean a moment to refocus and answer. “A few years. Not long. Jeremy was here before us.”

“Why here?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, from the way Jean says it questioningly, like he’s never thought of it before. “It just...felt right.”

Neil doesn’t know how he understands. He felt it too, when he first crashed into the forest and let the axolotl god into the water. Something about the town felt safe. Something about the forest and the sky felt clear—pure in a way Neil hadn’t experienced in years.

The fae rarely left any place untouched. Nature was a beautiful trap most of the time, safe to visit but never safe to live near. This place was different. Protected, almost.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Jean sighs. “What about you? Is there a reason you came?”

“I made a promise.” Neil closes his eyes and lets himself feel the sun. He wonders if the axolotl god is still there, in the stream. He wonders what his gift is. He can feel it sometimes in his chest, cool and quiet. “I really shouldn’t…”

_ I shouldn’t stay. _

Jean shrugs and starts to get up. “Like I said, Kevin added a lot to the house. It’s not like it’s totally Jeremy’s anymore. And owning a house doesn’t make it a home.”

_ Home. _ It’s a novel word. But a good one.

_ 9\. gladiolus italicus _

Neil stares at the house like it’s a spaceship that landed in front of him.

Matt is frozen in a pose before the front door, hands spread to indicate the finished product. He’s been there for a full minute and he’s not giving up on his huge grin.

Neil finally seems to breathe. He still doesn’t speak.

“Okay. Well, if you’re not going in, I am. It’s hot,” Kevin finally says shortly. He tries to go up the stairs but Matt wrestles him back down.

Neil swallows again. It’s nearly audible. “I...I don’t know how…”

“How to smile? Easy. Like this,” Matt jokes. He points to his wide grin.

“We didn’t do this to be paid back,” Jeremy says airily. “It was fun. Besides, we helped Matt and Dan build the fences for their conservatory. All we received in return were sunburns and some of Dan’s macaroni.”

“I don’t know how to make macaroni,” Neil says.

Matt laughs like it’s a joke. Aaron doesn’t think it is.

Everyone walks Neil through and waits for his response to everything. It’s pointless to Aaron; Neil was with them and helping the entire time. But it makes the others happy and they promise to have a housewarming party once Neil is settled. By the time they disperse, Aaron can already tell Neil needs a nap. Or maybe a quiet room.

“I’m going to pick some things up from Andrew. Okay?”

Neil takes a second to answer. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll—”

He stops short and Aaron knows exactly why. _ I’ll see you at home. _

They don’t really have the same home anymore.

“Dinner,” Aaron says before he can stop himself. _ This is stupid. It should be like ripping off a band-aid. _

“Yeah. Dinner.”

Whatever is in Neil’s heart, his expression looks like relief, and that alone makes it worth it.

It feels wrong when Aaron returns home and gathers his basket. He keeps listening for Neil in the workroom or Neil in the kitchen, making peanut butter sandwiches and making Aaron take one for the walk.

Aaron is at Andrew’s doorstep too quickly. He feels out of sorts and out of place; he takes a second to exhale and remind himself to relax. Andrew will know immediately that something is off. Aaron doesn’t know if he has the energy to fight him.

The side door to Andrew’s cabin is propped open. Aaron follows the path toward the garden and minds his step; the grass grows over the stones and there are vines curled by his feet. It’s always felt less like a path to the garden and more like a path that happened to be allowed through the garden.

Andrew is working in the rosebushes. His armbands are morphed into a pattern like scales; it’s probably a succulent offering him armor. The little rounded arrow shapes shift and breathe almost imperceptibly as Aaron watches.

“Well?” Andrew prompts.

Aaron taps a finger restlessly against the handle of his basket. “Some daffodil and thyme. Full stock of coriander.”

Andrew brushes his hands against his black pants. They leave faint brownish streaks on the dark fabric. When he stands, the roses that had tilted their heads away from him relax back into position, petals rich red in the sunlight.

The garden is a familiar place for Aaron. It’s not as comfortable with him as it is with Andrew, but some of the plants wave in Aaron’s direction as he follows Andrew down the winding stone paths. The garden remembers well. Even if Aaron can’t understand its language, he knows what it means when the peonies wiggle as he passes them. They’re happy to see him.

There is a nagging thought at the back of Aaron’s mind.

_ She says she likes you. She says you give the birds seeds. _

“You’re thinking too loud. It’s annoying,” Andrew says as he snips a sprig of thyme, the scent of the herb wafting upward toward Aaron.

Aaron presses his lips together to stop himself from saying something stupid. He curls his fingers around the edges of his shirtsleeves and rubs the soft fabric against his palm. _ How did he know? He said it was magic, but what kind? _

Somehow Aaron thinks of the forest again and finding Neil there, dirty and wide-eyed, as if he’d sprung up from the earth.

_ Maybe he did. _

_ But that’s stupid. _

There was no way Neil had just formed from the dirt. There was no way he was just some thoughtless doll of mud and milkweed.

And he couldn’t be fae. He wasn’t. _ He’s never been cruel or bad to me. Or anyone else, for that matter. _

Aaron had already made up his mind anyway. He’d taken Neil in and stayed with him. He was still asking Neil to stay, in a way. 

“What flowers do you have for...housewarming?” Aaron asks suddenly. He feels a pang of regret as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he ignores it and focuses on the question. He would have to deal with Andrew sooner or later.

Andrew pauses. The glance he sends toward Aaron glints with suspicion. “Housewarming. I heard there was a new place going up. Did Jean decide Kevin was too much?”

“No,” Aaron replies. There is a little more annoyance in his voice than he meant to let through. “None of those three are leaving the other anytime soon. It’s not for them.”

“Then there’s a stranger in town,” Andrew says lightly, a false air of excitement coloring his words. His expression stays rigid despite his comment. “Interesting that I didn’t hear about it.”

_ Purposeful, you mean, _Aaron thinks. “He’s a friend. He’s here to work.”

It’s a dangerous admission. Aaron expects an immediate response but Andrew just rises slowly and makes his way toward a cluster of tall flowers with trumpet-shaped blooms. Gladiolus. Aaron waits uneasily as Andrew clips a few, carefully cradling them in his free arm. His armbands have morphed into something else, green leaves fluffy and willing to accept the weight of the flowers.

Andrew taps his shears against his thigh as he stands. “A friend. Is that smart?”

Aaron can feel his teeth grinding. He has to force himself to relax his jaw and breathe slowly. “Yes.”

“And this friend is from before?”

“No.”

_ Before. _There is a before and after. More than one, really. There is a before this town and there is an after. There is before Aaron and Andrew, and there is after.

Andrew hums as he leads the way back to the cabin. It is a joyless tune, more like a random collection of notes than an actual song. By the time they enter the shop at the front of Andrew’s home, Aaron is ready to crawl out of his skin.

“That’s all,” Aaron says. He grabs a few vials from his pocket and shoves them onto the counter. The contents pulse a cloudy white. “I’m leaving.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow. He looks like he might reach out and grab the flowers back just to hold Aaron back. Aaron already has them in hand, though; he quickly presses the bundle against his chest as he moves toward the door.

“I’ll see you soon,” Andrew says.

It sounds less like a promise and more like a threat.

_ 10\. chrysanthemum morifolium _

Aaron has flowers. Neil stares as he stands at the edge of his small desk, one hand on the edge of the sweater he was about to take off.

“Are you in love with me?”

Aaron snorts suddenly; the tension seems to dissipate all at once, leaving Neil and Aaron standing a few feet apart, a bouquet of tall flowers between them.

“I’m in love with how quiet my house is now,” Aaron says. They both know it’s a lie. “I figured you could use something colorful. You barely have anything in here.”

“I have a bed. A desk. A—”

“Yeah, all right, smartass,” Aaron complains. He doesn’t really mean it. Neil can feel his lips pulling upward at the corners.

It hasn’t been that long. _ So why do I feel at home? _

Neil pulls his sweater off while Aaron roams the kitchen, probably making some sort of tea with the supplies he brought for Neil.

The front door is open. Neil had painted an end table earlier in the morning; it was sitting on the front porch. He had woken much earlier than he had in weeks and found himself restless and unable to focus. The table was a distraction but in the end, Neil had still spent the entire time thinking about his new house.

The first night was strange. It shouldn’t have been; Neil was used to being alone. He was used to sleeping with only the moon and the earth for company. Yet somehow, within the weeks Neil had spent with Aaron, he’d become used to the feeling of another body near him when he slept. Neil had gone to sleep in his new house and waited for five minutes for the sound of Aaron’s soft breathing before he’d realized it would never come.

It was terrifying how quickly Neil had become accustomed to something else. Especially because it seemed a lot like dependence.

“What is it?”

Neil looks up to find Aaron seated on the kitchen counter, his legs dangling against the unfinished wood cabinets. He looks comfortable.

_ I wouldn’t mind him coming here as often as he wants to. _

Neil shakes his head. “I—”

_ I don’t deserve this. _

_ I really don’t deserve you. _

“I wasn’t supposed to stay,” Neil says. It comes out a little more hopeless than he meant it to.

Aaron seems to curl in on himself, as if he is bending from the impact of the confession. Or maybe Aaron is just coiling around it like he can keep it just for himself if he tries hard enough. Aaron raises a hand and gestures for Neil to come closer.

Neil hesitates for a moment but he can’t help walking toward Aaron. _ Funny, how many years of denial will crumble because of just one person. _

Aaron swallows and it is audible. His hands twitch and then he raises them slowly, waiting until they are level with Neil’s shoulders. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” Neil says. He doesn’t miss a beat. He doesn’t think. He just opens his mouth and the answer falls out.

Aaron pulls Neil close. It feels a little awkward, Aaron taller and bent over Neil, Neil with his waist enclosed by Aaron’s thighs. It is an awkward hug but it is like them—it works, somehow, and Neil doesn’t know why but it feels like just what he needed.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Aaron mumbles into Neil’s hair.

Neil laughs. It’s more a puff of air than a laugh but it works just the same. Aaron huffs in Neil’s ear but doesn’t let go yet. “I’m trying to be supportive,” Aaron mutters. “And you laugh.”

_ I think I— _

“I appreciate you and your attempt to be warm and fuzzy,” Neil says. The words he thought are lodged in his throat like a pill he swallowed dry. They burn a hole that Neil is acutely aware will start leaking soon. He’s not sure what else he might say that he never has before.

Aaron finally extracts himself from the hug and leans back, hands splayed on the counter. “I saw the table. It looks good.”

“I tried.” Neil drapes his arms over Aaron’s legs comfortably, unwilling to move just yet. He is comfortable with Aaron’s body grounding him, reminding him that not everything is gone or changed. “Hopefully it’s sturdy enough. Kevin had some trouble helping me build it.”

“Oh, it absolutely will fall apart,” Aaron says immediately. He laughs and Neil feels his mouth pull into a grin. It’s a little stretched and uncomfortable but it’s real.

Neil can’t remember the last time he smiled.

Aaron picks up a sandwich from the plate by his elbow. “What is it with you and peanut butter?”

“Peanut butter and jelly,” Neil corrects. “It’s easy to make and cheap.”

Neil doesn’t add that they are the easiest things to find when you break into a house and they are least likely to be missed. He instead takes a bite of Aaron’s sandwich and thinks about another day, a week ago.

Andrew. _ We both know your track record. _ It was ominous enough for Neil to remember and it had been nagging him for days. He didn’t want to ask because it was Aaron but with so much time to himself now, Neil kept going back to those words.

“You look like you’re thinking again. Where’s the smoke?” Aaron asks.

Neil ignores Aaron’s smirk and leans over to bite half of Aaron’s sandwich. Aaron makes an indignant noise but stays where he is anyway and swipes at the jelly sticking to the corner of Neil’s mouth.

“Am I interrupting?”

Neil is still chewing his bite of sandwich when he turns to see Andrew in the doorway to the kitchen. He doesn’t look very happy.

Neil grabs the plate from the counter and offers it. His words come out sticky. “Wah shum?”

Andrew looks like he might take one of Neil’s knew steak knives and stab him.

“How the fuck did you get in?” Aaron blurts. He practically throws himself off the counter and Neil has to move back, displeased at being dislodged just when he was warm and comfortable.

Andrew’s fingers twitch. The bands on his arms are cacti now, Neil notices. The little barbs wiggle with nervous anticipation. “The door was open, genius.”

Neil watches the standoff and takes another bite of his sandwich. Andrew really is very different from Aaron; even now, their anger is different. Aaron is clearly pissed, but he’s scared, too. Whatever reason he kept Neil from Andrew is something serious.

Andrew, on the other hand, looks like he has found Aaron having tea with the devil. _ Do I seriously look that dangerous? _Neil considers the thought as he finishes his sandwich. He isn’t particularly formidable, although he is taller than Andrew and Aaron. Neil might be fast, but it’s not like he could run them to death.

_ So, what? Does he know what I can do? _

Neil wonders and then it snaps into place, cracking with an audible intensity as the memory pierces him in the chest.

Forest eyes. A half-open mouth, ready to speak.

_ He saw me. _

The peanut butter feels like cement pasting Neil’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. He can’t speak. His legs burn with the desire to run; Neil can hear his new plants anxiously chattering at him to flee. The forest isn’t far. But—

—Neil can only think of the house he stands in. Jean helping Neil hoist a curtain rod onto the wall, Jeremy laughing as he uses stain on an unfinished wood desk, Kevin eyeing the marble countertops as they are set in place. Matt hoisting lumber on his shoulders and winking for the camera as Dan reclines on the lawn.

Aaron coming by with flowers and tea, somehow still around even if they are not right by each other.

He can’t run.

“If this is what you insist on, I have a condition for you,” Andrew says lightly. He sounds like he’s talking about a vacation.

Aaron’s hands curl at his sides. Neil wants to reach out and uncurl them but he has the distinct impression that Andrew might kill him for it.

Andrew turns to Neil. His forest eyes aren’t as pleasant as the forest that lies just beyond Neil’s back door. “Come visit me,” Andrew says, as if it is a casual invitation. “And we’ll talk.”

If talking is as deadly as Andrew makes it sound, Neil doesn’t think he’ll survive the visit.


	2. The Sapling

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184522567@N07/48757197906/in/album-72157710919215511/)

** Part 2 **

** _the sapling_ **

11._ digitalis purpurea _

Neil.

_ Don’t touch Neil, _Aaron said. The thought brings a dry smile to Andrew’s lips. Five years and Aaron has learned nothing.

The garden is agitated. Andrew isn’t sure whether it is responding to him or if he is the one responding to it. The grass whispers about a redheaded stranger and Andrew has to actively ignore it.

The irises are the worst. Andrew gets the impression of the words _ freckles _ and _ pretty hands _before he forcibly slams his kitchen window down. It doesn’t help block out the gossip but it helps remind him to ignore it.

Strangers are not common. Not this far toward the water and not this close to a tangled forest. Everyone knows the fae inhabit deep woods. Everyone avoids them.

Well. Smart people avoid them.

There is a short, businesslike knock on the door. Andrew curls his hand around his shears before leaving them on his desk to answer. When he pulls the heavy door open, he starts to shut it again.

Kevin’s foot stops Andrew from finishing his refusal of company. Kevin frowns, one hand curled around the edge of the door. “I need—”

“You always need something,” Andrew says. It sounds more like an insult than it probably should.

Andrew blames the irises.

“Rosemary,” Kevin says shortly. He narrows his eyes at Andrew. “What is your problem?”

“Do you want the list alphabetically or by order of annoyance? You’re on top of both.”

Kevin’s nose scrunches in distaste but he doesn’t argue. It’s the first smart thing he’s done. Andrew leads the way toward the side door and the path that leads to the garden.

For some reason there is an inkling of disappointment in his chest. Andrew briefly considers cracking open his ribs to extract the problematic seed.

The garden whispers around Andrew as he makes his way toward the small herb plot in the corner. He crouches at its edge and asks for permission.

Asking is wordless. It is the only thing Andrew can never quite reconcile but it seems to work when he asks. He only knows to reach out and wait for a response. He holds his hand near the rosemary, inquiring, and then one of the stalks leans toward him. _ Yes, _ it says, _ you may. _

Silent understanding. Andrew had always counted it as overrated before the garden.

“So. Were you in on the scheme or are you smarter than I give you credit for?” Andrew asks. He snips the rosemary as he asks, his other hand holding a thin paper beneath the sprig as it falls.

“What?”

“You know. What you spent your weekend doing. Not your boyfriends,” Andrew adds darkly. The last thing he wants to hear is Kevin’s awkward romanticizing about Jeremy and Jean.

Kevin’s mouth opens and the realization hits. He sits there like a fool for a moment too long; he’s always been transparent to Andrew. 

“I helped build a...cottage. Jeremy asked me to—”

“How weak. Blaming your boyfriend?”

“No,” Kevin says. There is a petulant edge to his reply. He probably knows that Andrew is just annoyed but Kevin can’t stop himself from being annoyed, too. He is very quick to aggravate. “Why is this a problem? You didn’t mention anything when Avery moved into town. Or Iris.”

“They live on the other side. Far away from me.” _ And you. And anyone else that matters, _Andrew doesn’t say. He stands abruptly and starts walking back toward the house. “I am asking now. And it won’t be a problem unless he is.”

“Neil is not a problem,” Kevin says dismissively. “He has talent. And anyway, Aaron—”

“Do not tell me to go by Aaron’s estimation,” Andrew interrupts shortly.

“I don’t think he’s wrong.”

“I did not ask.”

If it were up to Andrew, he would quarantine Neil based on Aaron’s attachment to him alone. Whatever the reason for Aaron’s interest, it’s probably not good. Aaron doesn’t make friends like Neil. Aaron has acquaintances—casual coworkers and people he knows from deliveries. Aaron does not have friends that he builds houses for and lets stand between his legs.

_ What the fuck was he doing anyway? _

There is another knock at the door just as Andrew wraps Kevin’s package with twine. Kevin follows Andrew’s gaze toward the door before silently sliding his money across the counter and exchanging it for the rosemary.

It would be too much to expect Kevin to keep his mouth shut. Andrew is proven right when Kevin pauses before leaving to say, “He is not bad. You may have more in common with him than you think.”

Andrew doesn’t bother to answer.

When Kevin leaves he says something to Neil on the way out. Andrew isn’t sure what it is but he can see the way Neil’s face lights up a little at the sight of Kevin. Neil seems to hum with a gold light, the color winking in the sunlight as he tilts his head to look up at Kevin. There is the tiniest curve to Neil’s lips; it’s not a smile by any stretch of the word but it seems like the closest Neil might get to it.

Kevin’s hand brushes Neil’s shoulder and lingers a moment too long. Andrew hears a grating noise and looks down to find his nails scratching his countertop.

Neil comes in as if he’s been inside a dozen times. He shuts the door carefully but Andrew can see the lightning-fast flick of Neil’s eyes. _ He’s looking for ways out. _

Smart of him. Smart but useless.

“So. The infamous Neil,” Andrew says.

Neil casually sticks his hands in the pockets of his overalls. _ Fucking overalls. Ones with shorts, at that. Allison’s work. _“I think you’re the only one I’m infamous to. I wonder why.”

“I’m the only smart one,” Andrew says sharply. He shows his teeth for a second because Kevin says to smile when you want something. Not that he’s one to talk.

Neil isn’t paying attention. _ Clearly he’s an idiot. Maybe that’s why Aaron likes him. Pity. _Neil casually browses Andrew’s shelves and runs a finger along the labels taped to the wood. He leans in to sniff the sandalwood, eyes half-lidded. Somehow the light coming in from the windows illuminates the curve of his cheek—

—and the curse mark nestled beneath his left eye.

Andrew has seen marks in the same place before. Very different types, but all the same, Andrew isn’t comforted by the sight.

“Let’s go into the garden,” Andrew says.

Neil tilts his head but doesn’t argue. There’s curiosity in his gaze and something else. Something sharp and bright that tells Andrew that Neil might not be completely stupid.

The garden is practically screaming in anticipation when Andrew opens the door. He has to focus on tuning down the din while he walks out; it is a frenzy of vague images and sensations that come to him in snatches. None of it is words, exactly, and half of it is too muddled for Andrew to understand. He has a limited vocabulary when it comes to his conversations with the garden. He is at his limit.

Andrew glances over his shoulder to ensure Neil is following him and nearly stumbles over his next step.

Neil holds his hands out at his sides. He’s making a strange rushing, whispering sound as he walks and the grass stretches toward him. The flowers along the path bob excitedly and bump against Neil’s fingers and legs when they can reach him. Even the curling vines and leaves along the stone path inch toward Neil while he walks.

The garden fucking _ loves _Neil and Andrew doesn’t know whether to be furious or terrified.

_ There is no way he is human. He is fae or a changeling. That is the only explanation. _

Andrew stops beside the irises. He doesn’t mean to and as soon as he does he regrets it. The irises are explicit on a good day and with a new subject to wax poetic about, their sighs and gasps are louder than usual.

The echoing reactions bother Andrew enough to affect him when he opens his mouth. “How long did you stay with Aaron?”

Neil pokes at the petal of a rowdy Iris. It wiggles cheerfully and leans closer. “I’m not sure. A month? I didn’t pay attention to time.”

Andrew resists the urge to reach for his shears. “How interesting. I wonder how you managed to get away with it. Where were you hiding from me?”

“On top of the closet, the time you visited recently. There wasn’t enough room under the bed.”

“Fascinating,” Andrew says. He wants to say _ fuck you _ . _ Who the fuck admits to being a problem? _

Neil is a problem. Everyone seems to like Neil well enough; Aaron especially. But Andrew has seen the way the plants adore Neil and he does not trust it.

The earth isn’t this loving to just anyone. Not even Matt and Dan have forest animals chirping around them like a fucking Disney movie. Neil just waltzed into Andrew’s garden and became the belle of the ball. Whatever magic or enchantment he has, Andrew seems to be the only one immune enough to see it happening.

“Kevin told me I should write letters as a business. That’s what I’m trying to do,” Neil says. He withdraws his hand from the irises. It looks like his face is red, but that could just be the sun getting to him.

_ Unless he can hear what I can. Unless he knows what the garden is saying, or he’s telling it what to say. _

Andrew wordlessly leads the way down a branching path. He stops at the marigolds and tests his theory, asking for a few blooms. The flowers bend toward him.

Neil is looking off toward the roses. He could be deaf to Andrew’s questioning, or maybe he is pretending not to hear.

Except Neil smiles a little—the same secretive curve he showed to Kevin—and Andrew’s hand curls against his knee. _ He knows. Somehow. _

Andrew rises with a few marigolds. “Yellow ink,” he says. “You could use it.”

“I could.” Neil seems puzzled. He glances between Andrew and the flowers as if it’s some kind of trick.

Andrew holds the flowers out. He waits for Neil to take them before he asks, “Why are you here?”

Neil doesn’t skip a beat. He holds the marigolds to his nose and inhales softly. His eyelashes look gold in the sunlight and Andrew doesn’t trust a single one of them.

“There’s a stream in the forest. It’s pretty big,” Neil says. He turns the marigolds in his hand and brushes a finger along the petals. He keeps touching things like he’s—

—worshipping them, or something.

Andrew pointedly looks away from Neil’s hands. “And?”

Neil shrugs but there is a tense line forming in his posture. “I brought a God here. An axolotl god. It asked me to.”

Whatever answer Andrew expected, it was not this.

“An axolotl.”

“Axolotl god.”

Andrew has to force himself to breathe evenly. “Where is it now, then?”

“Probably gone. Moved downstream or toward the ocean,” Neil muses. He rubs a finger along the marigolds’ stems. “It couldn’t survive where it was. Someone trapped it and it was dying. It needed someone to bring it to the right kind of water.”

“And you just happened to be so kind-hearted,” Andrew replies mockingly.

_ More like he was the one controlling it. Or maybe he was stupid enough to try and it cursed him. That could be where the mark is from. _

_ He could also be stupid. He could have made a deal thinking it would go his way and was cursed instead. _

Endless possibilities. None of them are very good.

Neil lowers the flowers and looks Andrew in the eye. “You don’t have to believe me. You could try finding it. But I’m not lying. That is why I am here.”

Andrew believes him.

The problem is, Neil hasn’t said anything particularly detailed. It is not hard to believe him when he’s speaking vaguely about a God and a journey.

“Mm. Enjoy the ink,” Andrew says. He isn’t prepared to push more. Not until he does his research. “You have enough for a week or two. See me when it runs out.”

“Okay.” Neil waits a beat as if he is going to say something but then he goes, marigolds held against his chest. The garden waves at him as he leaves.

A marigold bumps against Andrew’s wrist. It seems disappointed.

“Shut up,” Andrew says. He’s glad to see Neil go.

12._ lathyrus odoratus _

Seth provided most of the materials for Neil’s new cottage. Neil was never able to meet him during the building process; Seth apparently spent most of his time doing labor alone and looking for his secret boyfriend.

Or at least, Aaron claims Seth has a secret boyfriend. That was the only reason Aaron seemed to think Seth would disappear for extended periods of time.

Neil opens his door Friday afternoon to find a vaguely irritated looking man on his front steps. The preceding knock had been hard and short; Seth is soft-looking and tall. He is tan and his hair has a curiously faded pinkish color to it; the roots are blonde. It looks as if he has forgotten to look after himself for some time. His black pants are frayed at the hems and the white sleeveless shirt he wears is dotted with holes.

“You’re Neil,” Seth says. He looks around the house as if Neil is invisible, tilting his head to reveal a curiously sharp, perfectly angular jaw. “Looks good in here. Surprised Kevin didn’t install satin drapes.”

“He would have cried the second I got them dirty,” Neil replies immediately. There is something combative about Seth’s demeanor. It seems like he is ready to fight. “Who are you?”

“Seth.” It was obvious enough, but Neil wanted to hear it. Seth shrugs and points inside. “Do you mind?”

“No.” It’s actually true.

Seth follows Neil inside. The cottage is just finishing its unlived-in phase; the couch cushions look less boxy and the bed at the far end of the house is a little rumpled. The desk Neil had left to answer the door is covered with scattered papers and assorted stationery.

“Was it a letter you wanted?” Neil asks. He takes a seat at his desk, tapping a finger against the side of his glass of lemonade. Dan had brought a pitcher as a housewarming gift just a day before.

Seth snorts. “To who? No. Just wanted to see how things went. Wanted to know what my hard work was for.”

“Thanks,” Neil says. It feels a little awkward coming out of his mouth. He is still unused to thanking anyone. He is not used to having someone to thank. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m sure you do.” Seth looks at Neil with a critical eye, as if he sees something he recognizes. Something beneath the surface.

Something Neil isn’t sure he wants Seth to see.

“So. If that’s it,” Neil says.

Seth snorts. “Relax. I’m not here to be a problem.” He makes his way toward the low daybed by the desk and sits, leaning back against the pillows. Seth’s head rolls toward his shoulder as he lounges and casually waves a hand at Neil. “There are lots of stories about you, you know.”

“Really.” Neil’s hand curls around a letter opener by his wrist before he forces himself to let go. He rearranges his desk and returns to the letter he was writing before Seth arrived. Hopefully it makes him seem calmer than he feels.

“Of course. Not many newcomers here.” Seth shrugs and looks up toward the ceiling. His fingers brush the tendrils of a fern that hangs down from its pot, tiny green leaves flickering. “Does that bother you?”

“No. It’s not my problem if someone has ideas about me.”

Seth laughs. It’s harsh and a little loud but Neil doesn’t mind it. It sounds familiar. Like Neil has known Seth for a long time and they are just catching up. _ Strange. _

“You’re smarter than they give you credit for, then.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Do or don’t, it doesn’t change the truth.” Seth drops his arm to his side and glowers suddenly at the window across from him. “Andrew came by, didn’t he?”

“Unannounced,” Neil agrees. He turns toward Seth, curious. “You don’t like him.”

“No one _ likes _him,” Seth says. “Except maybe Renee and she doesn’t count.”

“Why don’t they?”

“You’ve met him.” Seth fixes Neil with an unimpressed stare. “Why would they?”

Neil shrugs. _ He has a nice garden. _

It occurs to Neil a moment later that Seth was staring earlier because he was evaluating the mark on the side of Neil’s face. The curse mark.

Neil tenses all over again. “Is this really what you want to talk about?”

Seth frowns. “The hell do you mean?”

“You were looking. Why don’t you ask.”

It comes out forced and it is not a question. Seth still looks confused for a good moment before realization hits him and he crosses his arms. Neil prepares for the worst—an interrogation, or perhaps threats—but Seth doesn’t seem ready to direct his fighting energy at Neil.

“I have a friend with marks like that.”

“What? Your secret boyfriend?” Neil blurts before he can stop himself.

Seth looks unimpressed. “You say gossip is stupid but you listen to it?”

“I never said that. I just said I don’t care about gossip about me.”

Seth laughs. “Smartass. No, he’s not my secret boyfriend. Anyway, like I said, he has marks. I do, too.”

Neil pauses to consider the admission. It’s more than he expects from anyone, much less a guy he barely met minutes ago. He wonders if this is a theme with the city—all these people coming to offer up their lives to Neil, seemingly uncaring of what he does with their secrets and intimate details.

“Why are you telling me this?” Neil finally asks, quiet.

“Because it’s the truth,” Seth says smoothly, as if he doesn’t need to think about his answer. “And because I know what people see when they look at a curse mark.”

“What’s that?” 

“Something else,” Seth says simply. “Kevin was lucky with his. It looks like a charm or something, so he’s never had trouble. He’s rich and hot too, so.”

“Does your secret boyfriend know you have the hots for Kevin?”

“Everyone knows,” Seth says without missing a beat. He grins wickedly and Neil thinks he likes Seth. “You know, I’m surprised Andrew hasn’t killed you for sleeping with Aaron.”

Neil pauses halfway through the process of leaving his chair for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “You what?”

Seth’s laughter is much louder this time. “Judging by your face, I’m guessing you haven’t.”

“No,” Neil says, faintly disturbed. “_ No. _ You mean Andrew—”

“He’s been in a foul mood ever since you showed up, probably because Aaron’s been in a great mood.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re telling me,” Seth mutters. He rolls his eyes and then levers himself up off the daybed.

Neil mechanically puts together three sandwiches before he realizes what he’s doing. He is still thinking about Seth saying Andrew thought Neil and Aaron slept together.

_ He’s not entirely wrong. _

“Hey.” Seth sounds serious this time; Neil turns to face him, unsettled by the change in his tone. “No joke. Andrew is dangerous.”

Neil slowly bites into one of his sandwiches. “I’ve thurfife thith long.”

“Yeah. This long,” Seth says. A flash of irritation crosses his face, there and gone. “I’m serious. Andrew...look. Just be careful. If he thinks you’re a problem—”

“I’m not.” Neil offers a sandwich to Seth.

Seth stares at Neil for a good minute. It looks like he wants to say something or do something. Instead, he takes the sandwich.

“Thanks. I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.” _ If Andrew doesn’t kill me first. _“I’ll see you.”

13\. _narcissus poeticus_

Andrew rarely goes into the forest.

Contrary to popular belief, he does not live so close to the woods because he loves them. He instead lives by the woods because they are furthest from everyone else.

People stay away from the forest for good reason. It is uncharted territory and there are creatures within—fae, spirits, minor gods. Andrew knows better than to wander into the forest.

Yet there he is, boots laced tight and knives tucked beneath the hard bark sheathing his forearms.

The first trail Andrew takes is to the right. It leads closer to the edge of town and Jeremy’s house. It is the opposite direction Andrew means to go but he supposes it’s best to visit before he takes off into the woods. At least there will be a record if he goes missing.

If he dies, Andrew thinks he’ll haunt Neil first.

The trail is well-kept. Kevin is particular about it, obviously, though he would never volunteer the information. Andrew doesn’t care as long as Kevin doesn’t wander further into the trees. 

Beneath Andrew’s feet, there are dappled shadows that shift gently back and forth. Above his head, the branches whisper and exhale. Andrew doesn’t understand them. He never has. The forest is too wild and Andrew can barely communicate with his garden.

After ten minutes, the path begins to open into a clearing. There is a giant oak tree at the center of the space; its branches spread so wide they nearly reach Andrew at the end of the path. The tree sits proudly, strong and stubborn in the earth.

The oak tree groans when Andrew approaches.

** _“Don’t tell me you got into a fight with Neil.”_ **

“So you knew, too.” Andrew’s fingers itch to yank at one of Wymack’s branches.

The oak tree shudders slowly, the movement travelling up its enormous body. If Andrew concentrates, he can see a vague face in the bark. It’s not really there, of course. Just some part of the brain telling Andrew that there is a human within.

Wymack huffs; the sound is like a gust of wind. ** _“Of course I do. Kevin was going to tell him.”_ **

_ Tell him? _ Andrew laughs shortly, devoid of any real amusement or joy. “He would. To a stranger.”

** _“Seems like a good kid,” _ ** Wymack mutters. ** _“Aaron loves him.”_ **

“Loves him,” Andrew repeats sourly. “He’s known him for a month or two. He doesn’t know him. No one does.”

** _“Are you jealous?”_ **

“I’m jealous of Jeremy, who probably has an axe handy right now.”

Wymack makes a snorting noise. He is obviously unamused. He hardly ever is amused—he deals with Kevin, after all.

Andrew doesn’t mind Wymack. The man is smarter than people give him credit for and he is much more patient than anyone knows. Of course, he is also a part-time tree, and that makes it difficult for Wymack to go very far. But Wymack does his best and knows how to use his roots, his knowledge, to look after people. And he’s looking after several.

** _“So? What is it you think you’re going to do?”_ **

“He claims he brought a small god here,” Andrew says abruptly. The thought of wandering further into the forest makes him itchy; there is a familiar frenetic energy building in his bones. “I am going to find it.”

** _“And if he’s lying?”_ **

“Then I’ll have to kill Aaron when I get back. Along with everyone else.”

Wymack hums, wood creaking and groaning as it moves. ** _“You aren’t allowed to_ ** — ** _”_ **

“I know.” Andrew turns away and begins down another path, less manicured, laid out toward the center of the forest. “I’ll see you.”

Allowed and not allowed. Andrew is well aware of the rules. Wymack and Abby—even Bee—have all told him, many times. They’ve all said useless things like _ you can’t break people just to find out what’s inside. _

It doesn’t really matter to Andrew. He can count on his hands the things that matter to him and they are all worth more than whatever lecture Wymack has prepared for Andrew, if Andrew does something to Neil. Aaron’s safety is more important than some strange, red-gold fae creature with bright blue eyes.

_ They always send the pretty ones. _

Andrew is annoyed. He didn’t plan to spend his day pushing through the forest to find the creek that the axolotl god may or may not still be in. If anything, he thinks he will require Aaron to write an apology a few hundred times in payment. Maybe provide extra elixirs.

Aaron will fight that proposal for longer than he should. Andrew doesn’t care.

The forest doesn’t seem to care that Andrew is in it. He can’t sense any fae magic yet—not close, at least. This part of the forest is just domestic enough to not be wild, so it is less favorable to magic creatures.

Still, there is an uneasy sensation creeping up Andrew’s spine. It is a lingering wariness, a heightened nervousness that tells him something is wrong. He can’t put his finger on it. Nothing feels unfriendly but Andrew has the distinct sense he is in danger.

The sound of moving water pulls Andrew from any thoughts of danger. The burbling directs him right up to the edge of the creek; here, it is wider and there are smooth rocks peering out from the clear water. This is the kind of place that is impossible to cross without ending up entirely soaked.

Something glows softly at the water’s edge. It is a rosy light that twinkles and pulses. Andrew curls his hands tighter; the bark against his skin contracts and scrapes threateningly. Andrew inches closer to the water.

“Show yourself,” Andrew commands.

The light pauses. It bounces closer; the light reflects off so many places that Andrew can’t pinpoint its origin. He waits and watches, one hand at his opposite arm, prepared to use his silver dagger.

The light in the water pulses, each beat expanding the glow’s radius. At the center, the color darkens to a vibrant, bloody red. It takes a full minute for a form to develop in the center of the light. Once it is there, the pulsing glow contracts just as slowly until it is barely there.

The thing on the rocks is lithe, with pinkish-white skin and bright reddish-pink hair. Its eyes are too far apart and its mouth is too wide. The hand that rests on its bent knee is webbed, the fingers graced with tiny nails that reflect colors like the inside of a seashell. The thing is completely naked but casually crouches before Andrew anyway, a bright tongue darting out to wet its lips.

The creature asks something. It sounds like water pouring from a pitcher and also glass wind chimes. There is a faint smell of salt and something green, like algae.

“I don’t speak—that,” Andrew says. He is annoyed by his stumble.

He has never seen anything like this before.

The creature’s brow furrows. It tilts its head and then says, _ “Why are you here?” _

It sounds like the creature is speaking underwater. There is a gurgling quality to its words and it has some kind of odd accent that falls and rises on the wrong syllables.

“Someone told me they brought you here. I came to learn the truth.”

The creature smiles. Andrew can’t decide if it is hilarious or horrifying. _ “You know what you want to already.” _

“If I did, I would not have come here.” Andrew itches to pull his dagger out just to make a point. He wonders if the silver would do anything. It is only proven against fae, but he wouldn’t mind testing it on a god.

_ “Why did you come here?” _

“You asked that already.” Andrew feels the bark on his arms contract and release; it is almost egging him on to fight. “I came to protect someone. To find the truth.”

There is laughter like a waterfall crashing over rocks. _ “You are tangled. Tangled like creeping vines.” _

“Then I’ll cut myself free.”

The creature leans closer. It looks serious, suddenly. One of its hands reaches out; Andrew is ready to slice it, but the creature stops short of touching Andrew. _ “The more you cut, the more it grows.” _

_ And what do you know? _ Andrew stares back at the god, unmoved. Its eyes are black pools of nothing. It is probably a forgotten deity that was near death when Neil appeared. _ Was it going to be forgotten? _

_ Why did Neil agree to take it? _

The god sighs. It sounds tired as it pulls back into itself, eyes half-lidded. _ “You will have a choice.” _

“I always have a choice,” Andrew says. It comes out more forceful than he meant it to.

The god continues as if it didn’t hear him. It might not have. _ “It will grow despite you. It will eclipse the pain. It will be true. It will always remain. Whatever you choose, whatever you say. In his eyes, there is no other way.” _

Andrew watches the light fade back into the stream. The god is gone, light travelling downstream or perhaps to the ocean. It might never be back again.

Andrew doesn’t care. It was bullshit anyway.

14\. _ruta graveolens_

“I don’t have a curse,” Aaron says. “But a lot of people here do.”

Neil pauses with a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth. His knees are drawn up to his chest, a blanket draped over them. Neil and Aaron are sitting on the daybed in front of Aaron’s television, something called _ The Fast and the Furious _ halfway through playing on the screen before them.

It’s an odd time for such a confession. Neil chews through his popcorn before he says, “I guessed.”

Aaron seems irritated as he crushes a piece of popcorn between two fingers. “I can’t...I will always listen to you. I can be here. But I can’t really—I can’t do what someone else might. Someone who—”

“Someone who’s cursed like me?”

“Yeah.” Aaron drops the crushed kernel back into the bowl they’re sharing.

_ Cursed. _Neil can feel the spidery mark on his cheek like a brand. As if he is being cursed now, magic sharp and hot in his veins. He can see it if he closes his eyes.

Light. Pain. Blood.

“I don’t need it,” Neil says. He can’t tell if it’s truth or habit. “I need...you. Just you.”

Aaron’s mouth twists as if he is unhappy with the answer. Neil doesn’t blame him. It is a cheap answer and one that ignores all that is unsaid between them. All the secrets Neil has never divulged. Reasons.

But Aaron nods, resolute, and lifts a handful of popcorn to his mouth. “I can do that.”

Aaron doesn’t press and Neil pretends that this is all fine.

Maybe it is. Neil hasn’t felt this—whatever this is—in a long time. Or ever. He is suddenly not sure he has ever felt this way.

He’s not sure what to call this. He’s comfortable with Aaron. There is a warmth in the center of Neil’s chest. Neil cannot imagine what he might do without Aaron or what would happen if—

—if.

That is one thing he won’t think about. Neil refuses to. Instead he lets the movie play while he falls asleep and soon, he is gone. There is nothing.

Nothing.

Nathaniel.

Nathaniel stands in a dark forest. The trees are moss-covered and moist; there is a carpet of dead, wet leaves beneath his feet. He knows this is a dangerous place. He should not be here.

When he inhales, Nathaniel can taste rot. It is sour-sweet-hot on his tongue. He would gag but it would make noise and he cannot make noise.

_ Not a sound. They will find you, _Mary whispers in his ear. He can feel the phantom of her nails biting his skin. When he looks down there is blood dripping down his arms, into the earth. Feeding it.

Feeding the darkness.

Something lurks. Before Nathaniel is a path. There is a clearing further away, scattered birds and other animals dead along the blackened earth. Nathaniel makes his way toward it but every step feels like one thousand. His legs ache and his body protests.

The closer he comes, the more Nathaniel can make out what is in the clearing. There is a tree stump at the center; it is cut jaggedly, as if something clawed raked it down. Something black oozes from the open wound. It smells sharp and it burns Nathaniel’s nose. 

There are things scattered around the tree, in the clearing. Snarls of hair are caught on broken branches, blood is sprayed over dead foliage, and scraps of clothing are pressed into the toxic soil.

Something happened here. Death.

Nathaniel cannot swallow. He can feel bile rising and he forces it back down, stepping ever closer to the dead tree in the center of the clearing. There is a low noise coming from it. Something like pain. Despair.

Hunger.

Someone is huddled behind the tree stump, just opposite Nathaniel. Their arms are draped over the dead wood, deadly gashes carved into their flesh. Nathaniel knows he is looking at what will soon be a body.

It is too late. Nathaniel knows this. He can feel the earth sinking underfoot. He can see the dead things reaching out. The world beyond the tree stump is pitch black and empty.

There is a guttural noise from the darkness before Nathaniel, like the last breath before dying. The body curled on the ground twitches.

_ You have to run. Run, Nathaniel. Run. _

** _Run._ **

Nathaniel turns on his heel. He feels too slow, his body weighted by invisible hands on every limb. His feet are clumsy as he tries to flee, the ground beneath him sticky as it grasps for him. It will not let him move.

The darkness is laughing, distorted. Its cold fingers creep around the edges of Nathaniel’s vision. They pull his eyes open wide and dig into the sockets. Nathaniel’s eyes burn but he forces himself to run still, trying to escape. Clawing for freedom.

The darkness whispers against the shell of his ear, cold and wet. **_You were never free, Nathaniel. You never will be._**

Nathaniel opens his mouth and screams.

His hands claw at the empty air before him. There is nothing to save him. No one.

Aaron—

—Aaron is there. Nathaniel’s hands catch in Aaron’s sweater, fingers tangling. His cheek is hot. _ Why is it hot? Is it the scar? Curse? _Nathaniel’s throat is raw. His lungs are empty. He hurts.

Hurts.

“Neil. Neil,” Aaron says, a desperate edge to his voice. “Look at me. Look at me, Neil. I’m here. Look at me.”

_ Neil? _

“Who is Neil?”

Something breaks in Aaron. Natha—Neil can see it. He can see it and it hurts.

Aaron takes a slow breath. “Neil. Look at me,” he repeats. “You are with me. You are with Aaron. We are in my house. You are here.”

“Here,” Neil manages. It escapes his throat in a strangled way, distorted by panic and uncertainty. Neil tries to reign himself in; tries to pick the fences up and remake his boundaries. “I’m—I—”

“It was a nightmare,” Aaron says slowly. His eyes are reddish and his voice sounds shaky. “Just a nightmare. Okay? You’re with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Neil finally says. It comes out rushed and Neil thinks he might vomit. He takes three slow, even breaths. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t,” Aaron says shakily. “You have nothing to apologize for. Are...do you—”

Neil can’t. He cannot make words come out and there is nothing to say anyway. He holds his hands out and then Aaron is gripping his arms and pulling him in.

Aaron is warm. Real. He smells like cedar and nutmeg; his sweater is soft and worn. Where Neil’s head is buried at Aaron’s neck, he can feel the soft strands of Aaron’s pale, white-blond hair.

Neil can feel a sting on his face. He pauses a moment and then whispers, “Did you slap me?”

Aaron stiffens. “I—um, you were screaming and—”

Neil laughs tiredly. He pulls Aaron closer and waits for him to relax. “I get it.”

They sit there for a few minutes; Neil counts his breaths and tries to think of something else with each one. Brewing potions, listening to Jeremy laugh at his boyfriends, the giggling of Andrew’s flowers.

“Has this happened before?” Aaron asks quietly.

Neil sighs through his nose. _ The nightmare or the name? _

He could list the names. Something tells him it wouldn’t help.

“Yes. But I...usually don’t scream.”

_ And what does that mean? _

Aaron’s arms flex for a second like he’s ready to punch the nightmare. Neil smiles to himself. It’s a funny mental image.

“Well, I’m here,” Aaron says. He sounds disappointed in himself for saying so. Like it’s not enough. “I don’t know what it was—I don’t have to—but I’m here.”

Neil closes his eyes. _ Do I? _

He thinks about the look on Aaron’s face. _ Who is Neil? _

_ Who is Neil? _

“It was about the forest.”

Aaron is quiet. He rearranges his legs and sinks backward a little against the pillows on the daybed. “You don’t like the forest?”

“No. No, I do,” Neil amends. He shakes his head once as he tries to dislodge his thoughts. “It’s not the forest that was bad. There was...something there.”

Something dark. Neil sees it in detail in his mind. He might be able to smell it, too. Instead he inhales deeply and tries to memorize Aaron. Cedar, nutmeg, soap. Clean skin. Shampoo.

“Are your dreams...real?” Aaron asks. One of his hands curls tighter on Neil’s shirt. “I mean, do they happen?”

“Am I prophetic?” Neil laughs shortly. “No. But…”

“But it was bad.”

“Yeah. It was bad.”

Aarons’s hands slide to Neil’s chest. They press gently, inquiring. Neil reluctantly pulls back.

This close, Neil can see the little color blends in Aaron’s eyes. The green and brown are splotched like watercolors, no one color taking over the perfect ring of Aaron’s irises.

They are, Neil thinks, beautiful. Like the forest.

“Whatever it is, if it’s...here. If it follows you when you wake up. You don’t have to face it alone,” Aaron says quietly.

_ I want to believe you. _

It’s weak of him to believe. It’s weak to say yes and weak to pretend that Neil could escape this.

It’s weak to pretend that Neil has any hope of leaving. Not now—not with Aaron here. Not with Kevin and Jeremy and Jean. Seth. Allison and Renee.

Andrew. The garden.

Neil has already let the place grow over him like tree roots over the earth. He is buried too deep to extract without cutting himself into pieces.

He doesn’t want to.

Aaron is waiting. Neil tastes the words on his tongue, acidic and warning. _ You did this. You. _

“I know.”

15._ artemisia absinthium _

Neil sits by the creek and watches the water tumble over the stones. It breaks in clear trickles and tiny, burbling imitations of waterfalls.

He wanted to come immediately after the nightmare but—

—but he didn’t want to leave Aaron.

Maybe he wanted just one more moment of someone holding him.

The Axolotl God watches Neil with tilted eyes. _ “He did ask. About you.” _

“He said he would.” Neil looks down at his hand. The earth beneath it is wet. Healthy.

_ “He wonders about you. Had more questions he would not ask.” _

“Wouldn’t?”

A leaf falls from above, among the trees. Neil watches it drift down, rocking gently before it lands on the water. It bounces and jerks along dramatically, suddenly captured by a force stronger than itself. The leaf hits a rock and sticks for a second before the water yanks it further. It sinks partway and then bobs up again, tumbling one end over the other.

The god stretches its legs into the water. _ “You knew that. You knew he would not.” _

Neil shrugs tiredly. “I thought he might not. He didn’t seem…”

_ What? Mean? He threatened me. _

_ For Aaron. _

Neil rubs a hand over his face. “Do you know anything about my dream?”

_ “Humans dream.” _

“I know that.” Neil stands; he itches to run. He needs something, anything. “But it felt—”

_ “Something dark lurks in this forest,” _ the god says. Neil stops in his tracks. _ “It always has.” _

“Is that why you wanted me to bring you here?”

Neil waits. He could swallow his heart from where it is in his throat. Part of him wants to reach up and feel it, just to be sure he is alive. Awake.

Make sure this is real.

_ “No.” _

The god slowly pulls its limbs inward as it stands. It looks chillingly easy the way it stands as if gravity does not apply to it. _ “Whatever will come, you must remember. The forest protects itself. Do not harm it.” _

“I would never.”

_ “What he promises, he will keep. There is no cliff that is so steep. Begin or not, it will remain. A single cut to stem the pain.” _

The god sinks into the water. Its light diffuses gently, sparkles of pink-red blinking in the sunlight before they disappear.

Prophecies. Riddles. Neil has dealt with enough of them. He used to write them on his ankles until Mary forced him to memorize them.

_ This is your death, Nathaniel. You will remember. _

Neil shuts his eyes. He presses his hands against them and counts his breath; one, two, three. When he opens his eyes he sees nothing but forest.

There is time to think as he walks back toward the edge of the forest. He has experience with unraveling words; he spins them himself. He knows the language of flowers and trees and deer. He knows the way the world speaks. Every word is a feeling, is a name, is a thought. They are strung together in a web and Neil only has to pluck to see the vibrations.

Promises. Promises is for Andrew, Neil thinks. _ A steep cliff. _It must be negotiating. It seems that way to him. Talking to Andrew is a dangerous pastime, but—

—but for some reason, Neil likes it. Maybe because he can see everything from the edge.

_ Begin or not, it will remain? A single cut? _Those things make less sense. They seem too romantic. Too intimate. LIke an inevitable tug.

Maybe it’s Aaron. Neil is closest to him. _ I can’t stop being friends with him. _The path of solitude is long lost. Neil has already tangled himself too much in Aaron. The cut doesn’t make sense either but it could be something that hasn’t happened.

_ Maybe none of it is even true. _

The second option. True, untrue. Maybe it’s all a riddle of advice. Maybe the god is wrong.

Too many maybes.

He is already at the edge of the forest. Neil stands there silently and waits.

Something could happen. He thinks that and curls his hands tight as he forces his body to be still. All he wants is to run—run from this city and this danger. He wants to run away and let the darkness chase him. At least that way it will stay away from the others. From Aaron.

“Neil.”

It’s Kevin. Neil turns and finds himself face-to-face with Kevin. Andrew is behind him, a grim expression of dissatisfaction taking over his face.

Neil frowns. “What are you doing here? You’re not going into the forest.”

Kevin’s nose wrinkles with annoyance. “I am.”

_ No. He’s afraid of it. _

The Kevin that Neil knew was afraid of it. Neil closes his eyes for a second; he can see the mansion as it was before. _ He can’t have forgotten. Can he? _

“Why?”

“Because he is a fool,” Andrew answers tightly. His gaze is sharp as it rests on Neil. “You.”

“Me.”

“Watch him. Do not let him go too deep.”

Neil pauses. He looks over Andrew for a moment and sees.

He really sees.

There is a strange pallor to Andrew’s skin. It is familiar and Neil feels it like a punch to the gut. He notices the shake in Andrew’s body and the dullness in his eyes.

_ He’s cursed, too. _

There is no visible mark. Neil’s stomach roils uncomfortably. He wants to say something but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is, “Okay.”

Andrew stands there for a moment, looking back. His eyes are muddy but Neil has no doubt he could knock Kevin on his ass if needed.

“Don’t fail,” Andrew says shortly. He turns away and starts walking back toward town.

He is probably going to Aaron.

_ Is that why Aaron didn’t want him around me? _There are possibilities. Maybe the curse could hurt others. But it wouldn’t make sense that Kevin would be around Andrew so often. Neil has no clue what the curse could be. All he knows is that whatever Andrew needs, he will not be around for some time.

Which means Kevin could wander far.

“Something is poisoning wildlife,” Kevin says abruptly. He starts to walk into the forest.

Neil watches Kevin. He doesn’t move at first. He thinks back to something else—somewhere else. He remembers the taste of ashes and the feeling of electricity burning his skin.

_ That’s enough. _

The forest whispers about something. Neil listens as he goes. The language of the forest is different, different from Andrew’s garden or Matt and Dan’s veterinary clinic. The wilderness runs deep here and the life growing around Neil has never known the cultivation of a human hand. The forest speaks in an old tongue.

Old, but Neil understands it. He can feel it lingering in his bones like the hum of a bass note, deep and resonant. He knows better to love the forest but he trusts it. He can at least trust in its interest to protect itself. So long as Neil does not bring harm to the forest, it will not harm him.

“So. Is the language from the curse? Or something else?” Kevin asks.

Neil almost stumbles over an exposed root. His heart thumps erratically for a moment before he reigns it in. “What do you mean?”

Kevin looks back at Neil, mouth twisted in a sour expression. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Play dumb. You know what I mean.”

_ Does he remember? _Neil runs his fingers along the edge of his overalls. The denim feels soft and worn despite having just recently being given to him. He wonders if Allison or Renee bought it used, or if they wore it out as part of their design. It feels good. Comfortable.

It almost makes him imagine he has always been a part of this place.

“I don’t know,” Neil says. It is the truth but Kevin glances back at him, unimpressed by the answer. “I don’t,” Neil repeats. “I don’t remember not having the words. So maybe I always did.”

Kevin shakes his head. The movement is sharp, like everything about him. Neil wonders how Jeremy and Jean handle Kevin and then abruptly stops wondering.

“It’s a powerful talent. You shouldn’t hide it,” Kevin says.

Neil stops in his tracks. Kevin is five steps ahead before he realizes and turns on his heel. “What?”

“Are you stupid? Or are you trying to be funny? It’s not,” Neil says. There is acid in his throat and his tongue feels weighted. _ Stop talking, _ a voice whispers in his ear. _ You are going to give yourself away. _

_ Do you really want to? _

Kevin’s eyes darken. “What is your problem? It—”

“You really don’t fucking remember. I should have guessed.” Neil laughs, the sound devoid of joy. He lifts a hand to his cheek and wiggles his fingers. “Show us your gift. We enjoy a pretty boy performing.”

It should feel triumphant for Neil to watch Kevin’s face as the blood drains from it. It should feel different, but all Neil feels is the pit of dread in his stomach. The warning that tells him he should not have said anything.

“You can’t,” Kevin whispers. “You weren’t—”

“I don’t care that you forgot,” Neil says. The lie tastes like rotten lemons. He wants to spit the truth out but he swallows it, a pill burning through his throat. “I don’t need anything from you. Just don’t—”

The last words and all the air in Neil’s lungs are violently torn from him by a sudden impact. He watches the forest spiral overhead and then he is tumbling along the ground, dirt and foliage crashing around him. Neil is panting when it stops and he is lying on the forest floor, the sting of cuts on his skin burning him back to reality. He sucks in air as he dizzily rights himself, pushing his body upright with one arm.

There is a ragged path through the forest before Neil. Bushes and tree branches are broken before him, evidence of the few moments that he flew.

“Kevin.” Neil coughs; he tastes blood on his tongue as he shakily rises to his feet. “Kevin. Kevin!”

It takes a few seconds for Neil to register that he doesn’t recognize where he is. He cannot see a path anywhere near and there are no sounds, no water, no animals, nothing.

_ Nothing? _

It starts as a cold scrape up Neil’s spine, like a cadaver digging into his bones. Neil stops breathing. He can feel something lingering behind him, dark, and he knows immediately how bad it is. He knows he should be with Kevin. He should be protecting him.

The darkness is moving forward. Moving toward Kevin.

He doesn’t think. Neil reaches out, opens his mouth and says, “** _Stop._ ** _ ” _

The word is wordless. It is copper and ash on Neil’s tongue. He gags on it. He wants to run; a childish part of him wants to cry. He knows what is next.

The darkness is a form. It turns to Neil as it hears the word in its tongue and it reaches for him.

Neil does the only thing he can. He turns and he runs.

16._ lotus corniculatus _

“You look like shit.”

Andrew stares right back at Aaron. He has smudges beneath his eyes and there is a gray tint to his lips. There is no color in his face. “You know what, I don’t think I want what you have.”

Aaron sighs heavily as Andrew turns to leave. “Just get the fuck inside before a breeze knocks you over.”

Aaron doesn’t wait to watch. He turns away from the door and goes into his second kitchen—that’s what Neil called it, jokingly—where the supplies are. This isn’t the first time Aaron has done this.

But it is the first time Andrew has been like this.

“Is it worse?” Aaron asks. It comes out more tense than he means it to.

Andrew watches Aaron assemble supplies in a cauldron. He shrugs but it looks like slow motion, as if he’s swimming through pudding. “It’s the same.”

“Really? It’s been longer.”

Andrew doesn’t grace him with a reply. Aaron grinds his teeth together for a second as he tosses something into the cauldron. He snaps the burner on a little too harshly and the knob clicks with a startled snap.

“You can’t self-medicate this,” Aaron says quietly. He feels like he is navigating a minefield where half the mines will kill him and the other half will kill Andrew.

Andrew turns a box of cigarettes in his hand. It’s shaking.

“I don’t remember asking.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t ask for you to—”

“Don’t.”

One word. It is blunt like a bat and Aaron takes it as one. He knows better than to push it. This is how the conversation always goes when it comes to curses.

_ Fucking curses. _If he could find a way to untangle magic and bone, Aaron would. He would work until he could extract every tendril from veins and vessels.

He would _ help _.

“Neil liked the flowers,” Aaron finally says. It’s yet another dangerous topic but he says it anyway. He can’t help it. “He had some yellow ink when I saw him last. That was you.”

It’s not a question. Aaron knows. He also knows that Andrew would not show a concession like that without reason.

It’s the reason that Aaron is worried about.

“Oh? He likes flowers?” Andrew’s mouth twists into a grotesque grin. He is in pain. He is laughing at it. “I did not know he liked anything.”

_ What? _Aaron glances at Andrew, uncertain. He can’t tell if it is a trap or what trap it could even be. “He does. He likes things. I thought you of all people would see that.”

“Why? You think we are so alike? Do you want me to be his friend?” Andrew grins wider, teeth bared.

There is a cold shiver deep in Aaron’s body. He presses his lips together before he says, “No. I don’t give a shit if you’re his friend or not. He’s my—”

“Your what?” Andrew pushes away from the counter he was leaning against and paces closer, elbows hitting the table harder than they should. “Your…”

He is digging. Aaron stops stirring the cauldron’s contents and stares right back at Andrew with as much defiance as he dares. “Why don’t you ask him. You seem to like asking him questions.”

This could be the moment that Andrew slaps Aaron. He’s definitely tired enough. Aaron doesn’t doubt Andrew would lash out some way or another.

But Andrew doesn’t hurt the people he protects. The ones he cares about. Not physically, at least.

“Is this done,” Andrew says. He straightens abruptly, pulling back from the conversation and Aaron.

Aaron exhales slowly and then turns the burner off with a snap. “Yeah. It’s done.”

Andrew takes an empty mug from nowhere—_ when did he get that _—and dumps it into the small pot. The elixir he scoops out looks disgusting; Aaron has never been sure what it tastes like. Andrew says it tastes like elixir. Aaron knows better than to listen to anything Andrew says.

“Bottoms up,” Andrew says. He grins wickedly and tilts his head back. The entire contents of the mug go down his throat at once and then he is slowly tilting his head forward, eyes closed as he lets the elixir do its work.

It always seems to move in spiderwebs. Aaron has a theory that it’s veins he is seeing. Andrew breathes slowly and evenly; the spidery marks beneath his skin are a greenish-black.

It must hurt as much as the withdrawal. _ It must. _

Whatever he feels, Andrew doesn’t show anything. He only inhales and exhales for a few minutes while his cheeks slowly regain their color and his lips lose their paper-dry appearance.

Normally, Aaron would leave it at that. But Neil is infecting him and Aaron opens his mouth to ask, “Does it—”

He never finishes. There is an airplane-loud rush of air outside and the slamming of a body hitting the earth. Aaron sprints toward the front of the house, Andrew on his heels, and flings the front door open.

Kevin is out of breath. He pants as he stands, phantom wings flickering in and out of existence behind his shoulders. Their magic crackles wildly as Aaron watches, purple-blue sparks igniting agitatedly.

“What the fuck,” Aaron says sharply. He can see the flattened grass around Kevin’s impact. Some of the flowers in front of Aaron’s porch are bent by the wind. “Kevin—”

“Something,” Kevin gasps out. He shakes his head and starts again, firmer. “There was something in the forest. Neil—”

Aaron races down the steps before Kevin finishes. He is shorter than Kevin by a mile but he tries to shake Kevin by the force of his stare alone. He knows better than to touch with Andrew around.

“What did you do? Where is he?” Aaron demands. _ I shouldn’t have left him with Andrew. I should have warned him. I should have told him _—

Kevin shakes his head again. “I don’t know. It—it just—”

“Start from the beginning,” Andrew says from the porch. Aaron turns to find Andrew leaning against the railing, seemingly unworried.

_ He doesn’t even care. _

“We were just walking. Something….hit him. I don’t know. He was there and then he was gone. Whatever it was, it was fast. It just snatched him like nothing and tore off. Like...a wind, or something.”

“Wind doesn’t take people,” Aaron says. He turns toward the forest and curls his hand around the loose sage leaves at the bottom of his jean pockets. “I’m going. I—”

“You are going nowhere,” Andrew announces from the porch. He descends slowly and for the first time, Aaron wants to yank him down. He wants to shake Andrew and say _ this is Neil, we have to find him, I have to find him. _

It doesn’t matter that Aaron doesn’t know why Neil woke up screaming. It doesn’t matter that no one really knows where Neil is from or why he stayed. None of it matters.

What matters is brewed potions, a movie with popcorn, and Neil saying _ I need you, just you _.

Need is hard. Aaron knows that.

“I am not going to leave him there,” Aaron says quietly. _ I didn’t the first time. I won’t do it again. _

Andrew hears the unspoken words. He must; the way he looks at Aaron says that he knows. He can hear.

“If he is that important—”

“He is that important.”

It’s the truth. Aaron waits for his answer.

“Then.” Andrew raises a hand and waves Kevin closer. “I will take Matt and Seth. You will stay here, with Kevin.”

Kevin’s brow furrows. “Why would—”

“Stay,” Andrew repeats. “Here.”

Kevin clearly wants to argue. Still, he holds his tongue and Aaron watches as Andrew runs his fingers over the bands on his arms. They change from their usual leaves into thick, ropy, twisted vines.

“I will be back,” Andrew says. It sounds like a threat. “Don’t move.”

17._ begonia x tuberhybrida _

Neil is a little turned around. He is also losing energy.

The darkness is behind him but Neil still runs. He does not trust it to stay behind. He doesn’t believe that it has given up.

He can feel its breath on the back of his neck.

Neil ran away from the forest. Away from the depths and the fae music he could hear drifting on the wind.

No matter how much danger he is in, Neil will never run to the fae. Never.

_ You have to stop. _Neil has to force himself to slow, his legs burning and heart racing as he throws himself over a jutting rock and beneath its overhang. He slides along leaves and dirt, hands glancing off broken branches and sharp rocks. He isn’t sure how injured he is or whether the burning on his face is the curse scar or cuts.

When he takes a second to quiet his breathing, Neil can hear the forest. It is the first sign that he is safe—or safer. He can hear birds and the occasional rustle of a squirrel moving through the undergrowth. Here, the forest is alive. Healthy. There is no darkness.

Not yet.

_ You know this, _ a voice whispers in his head. _ You know what is coming. _

“I don’t,” Neil hisses. His defiance echoes in the empty space between the trees. “I don’t. It’s not—”

_ It is. _

But it can’t be.

Neil lurches away from his hiding spot, eyes locked on the path he knows will lead him home, and then he sprints face-first into a wide chest.

The person grunts out a low _ oof _and Neil spirals backwards, a wordless cry leaving his mouth as he falls right back onto the ground. He is prepared to fight when he looks up and sees familiar gray eyes.

Jean frowns. “What are you doing?”

“I—” Neil shakes his head. _ Don’t say a word, Junior...don’t you say a word… _

“What?”

Neil swallows. It feels like his throat is full of rocks. “I. Um, I was...with Kevin—”

“Kevin? Where is he?” Jean asks, suddenly sharp. He turns to scan the forest, a strand of silky hair escaping the knotted ribbon at his neck. His left hand darts to his neck and closes around the crystal that hangs there, rough and milky-blue.

Neil shakes his head. “He’s safe. He...I didn’t…”

_ I didn’t let it go back to him. _

Jean’s eyes are closed. The crystal in his palm pulses softly with blue light and then Jean sighs quietly, tension escaping him as the crystal winks reassuringly. “He’s not in the forest.”

_ Thank God. _Neil presses a hand against his face and realizes it’s shaking. He is shaking.

Jean stands there silently. When Neil doesn’t get up he slowly lowers himself to the ground, long legs folding beneath him.

“I remember you, you know,” Neil whispers. The forest feels like it’s pulsing around him. A heartbeat. He isn’t sure if it’s real anymore. There are too many voices vying for his attention. They crowd his head and slow his thoughts.

“What do you mean?” Jean looks Neil over, something distant in his gaze.

“You know. Just like Kevin,” Neil replies. He pulls his legs up to his chest and hugs them close, lowers his chin to rest on his knees. He wants to curl into a ball and hibernate until the world forgets him. Until there is nothing left to hunt him. “He forgot, too. They all forget.”

Jean’s breath hitches. His hands curl in the dirt and Neil can only think about how Jeremy will hold them later, sing in Spanish and gently clean them off. Jeremy will smile. Kevin will watch him like he always does. Stare like Jeremy is the sun.

“No. Not forgotten,” Jean says, hushed. There is a shaky quality to his voice. “Like—”

“—a nightmare,” Neil finishes. He closes his eyes. _ I used to wish it was just a nightmare. _

He used to wish, when he was a child. Before he learned that wishes were luggage and the heavier you were, the harder it was to survive.

“Neil?”

Jean sounds different. Neil opens his eyes and finds Jean sitting before him, cross-legged in the dirt. He holds his hands out, questioning. Neil nods slowly. Jean’s hands slide over Neil’s; they are not warm but they are steady, hands that have spent years putting things back together. They are hands that have spent years handling jagged things, people and crystals and nightmares.

“Home is close,” Jean says. He turns to look and Neil can almost believe that Jean sees Jeremy in the distance, waving from their porch and smiling. Neil could believe that Jean can hear Kevin calling him back, shoes off and tired feet sinking into a green lawn.

Neil squeezes his eyes shut again. _ That is not your home. It is not yours to take. _

_ You can pretend all you like, little fox. It will not change what you are. _

“I can’t,” Neil whispers.

“Why not?”

“It’s not mine.”

Jean’s hands carefully turn Neil’s over, palms skyward. Neil opens his eyes to look.

There is dirt in the lines of Neil’s palms. There are a few scratches, too; some are red and worried, and others are pale white and healing. There are calluses.

“Do you know belonging has more than one meaning?” Jean asks.

Neil looks up at Jean. He is just as pretty as he was when he was a child. Long lashes, high cheekbones, soft lips. There are scars now, though. The altered brand beneath Jean’s eye, mirroring the scar on Neil’s cheekbone. A tiny nick at the top of Jean’s right eyebrow. A fine line under his lower lip.

“Like what?” _ A gift or a purchase, _ the voice says. It laughs. _ All the same. _

Jean shakes his head as if he can hear the nasty thought. “It is not up to one person to decide if you belong.”

_ It doesn’t matter. I am not me, and no one knows me. _

_ How would they know if I did? _

“They don’t know,” Neil says. He is sure of this much. It feels like scraping his palms along thorny vines as he retreats again, as he pulls himself back from where he has spilled.

Jean doesn’t argue. “Maybe. But they don’t need to.”

He is probably right. It is too late for Neil to back away, and Nathaniel can never exist. Neil has to stay for now, even though he knows his time is running out. All he can do is minimize the damage he does while he is still around.

_ You really should never have stayed. _

18._ mintha x piperita _

Andrew hates the gods-damned forest. He knows what is in the woods. He knows all too well.

This is why he is relieved to see Neil and Jean emerge from the treeline. Not because Neil is alive.

Of course not because of Neil.

“What were you—” Kevin stops himself, one hand already on Jean’s arm. He looks like he wants to take Jean home but his eyes dart to Neil.

It would be funny to see the conflict in Kevin’s eyes if Andrew did not know what it meant. _ He likes Neil, too. Trusts him. _

Neil looks tired. He doesn’t seem to register reality and then Kevin steps up to him and asks, “Are you all right?”

Andrew slowly tilts his head to glare at Kevin. _ You’ve gotta be shitting me. _

Neil’s eyes are wide. He looks like a stupid baby deer with his big eyes and his hair sticking in every direction. Andrew knows he’s not some weak animal. It’s annoying to see.

“I’m—fine,” Neil says. He stumbles over the answer and visibly swallows. _ He can’t be about to cry. _

“Do you know the meaning of fine?” Andrew asks. He had thought Neil was a liar and it seems true, now.

_ His answers weren’t lies. _

Andrew ignores the thought. Neil stares back at Andrew with his stupid blue eyes. “I am alive. See? The scary forest didn’t eat me alive.”

“Of course it didn’t.” _ You’re part of it. _

Kevin glances at Andrew. He must have grown a spine with Jean around because he says, “Andrew. Leave him. He—”

“I do not remember this being negotiable,” Andrew says, feigning surprise. “Or did you forget? You seemed so smart.”

“Kevin, smart?” Neil interrupts. “Maybe you’re the dumb one.”

Kevin looks mortified. He is probably about to whisk Neil away like an overprotective mother but Andrew beats him to the punch. He steps closer to the redhead, grinning stiffly as he does. The smile almost hurts. Aaron’s elixir has already set in and Andrew feels like his teeth are going to start rattling in his head. He has too much inside.

Jean finally speaks. It is a surprise and apparently, Kevin is just as startled as Andrew. “Whatever drama it is you have planned, I suggest you do it after you tell Aaron he is back.”

Andrew whistles lowly as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Fighting dirty, Moreau.”

“Fighting,” Jean corrects. He turns to Kevin and slips his hand into Kevin’s, tugging them away. “Let’s go.”

Andrew watches the odd duo escape while he considers what to do with Neil. Jean was only a little bit right when he claimed that Aaron would be worried. Aaron is worried, but he won’t move until Andrew say so.

_ Speaking of which, Kevin left him. I’ll have to talk to both of them later. _

Neil makes a strange noise. It sounds a little like chirping. Andrew turns to look at him—

—and somehow, he ends up staring. Neil’s lips are parted as he trills, a strange melody drifting from his mouth and onto the wind. There is exhaustion in the way Neil’s face is drawn but he seems to feed on the light of the setting sun above him. Its rays are golden on Neil’s skin, color illuminating the wild strands of coppery red hair framing his face.

There really is no way he is not fae.

A small bird descends from the trees. It chirps the same notes as Neil as it lands on Neil’s outstretched arm. Andrew watches the bird fearlessly hope closer, its head tilting in sharp movements as it listens. Neil sings a few more notes and then the bird flies away in the direction of Aaron’s house.

“Nice party trick,” Andrew says. It doesn’t come out the way he means it to. It sounds more interested than he wants to be.

Than he is.

Neil watches the bird. “It isn’t a trick.”

“Like your little disappearing act?”

“I didn’t disappear,” Neil says quietly. Something dull slides over his eyes, as if the sunlight can’t touch them. “I was always there.”

“Uh-huh.”

Neil finally turns to Andrew. There is a flicker of irritation on his face. _ Good. Maybe I’ll get more out of him. _“What is it you want that I haven’t given already? You know how to ask.”

“And I should believe you when you answer?” Andrew tilts his head toward the forest. “I thought you didn’t like the forest.”

“I never said that.” Neil stares Andrew down as if he thinks he’s strong. _ Silly rabbit. _“And I know you talked to the god. You had a chance to ask your questions. It told you what you needed to know.”

“Funny. It’s so much like all the others,” Andrew says, unmoved. “Speaking in riddles. Completely useless.”

“Right. It’s no use to you, so it must not matter,” Neil replies. He is searching Andrew’s eyes. It’s unnerving. Neil’s gaze is too blue and too sharp, like a pool at a desert motel. “Why do I matter to you?”

“You don’t,” Andrew replies automatically. _ Lie. _His irritation mounts and he huffs out a dark laugh. “I do not care about you. You know this. Remember?”

“Right. You’re concerned about Aaron,” Neil says. His tone is vague. He is looking at Andrew but seeing something else and that—

—well. That is dangerous.

“Why did you go into the forest?” Andrew asks. _ To meet with your fae? _

_ To do your deal? _

“I went because you asked me to.”

It is absolutely not what Andrew expected to hear.

It’s not a lie. Andrew can hear that much. It’s the truth and that makes it so much worse.

_ You don’t even know me. You shouldn’t trust me. All I do is ask you questions. Suspect you. _

_ Why? _

And it can’t be.

There is no way.

Andrew shifts back on his heels. Studies Neil’s face for something, anything, a clue that will prove this is all a scheme. Some telltale sign that Neil meant for this to happen. That he knows exactly what he is doing.

But he can’t. He is foolish and there is no way he would risk himself in the forest just to—

—well.

He hasn’t even touched Andrew.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” Neil suddenly snaps. He is more irritated than Andrew has ever seen him, which is to say that his voice barely raises and the crease between his eyebrows deepens. “If you have a problem, you know where to find me. Ask all you want. I will give you the same answer.”

The same answer.

Neil walks away, off in the direction of Aaron’s house, and Andrew watches.

_ He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know I am looking, _Andrew thinks.

Somehow that is more terrifying than the alternative.

19._ viola tricolor var. hortensis _

Andrew is in the forest. It’s probably the stupidest choice he has made in the past twenty-four hours, including his response to the idea that Neil is an idiot and might actually be—

—safe?

_ No one is safe. Never. _ Andrew imagines the thought as a solid thing he can stab. It does little to assuage his aggravation.

This is why he is in the forest.

The bands on Andrew’s arms are morphing erratically. They shift from thorny vines to spiked leaves and barbed cacti. His mood is too unstable for them. Andrew breathes through his nose and tries to focus on stopping.

A branch snaps. Andrew turns, one arm raised, and watches needles shoot into the distance.

Before him stands a man with strawberry-blond curls and amused, gray-blue eyes.

“We only just met.” The man brushes needles off his chest, unbothered. He has an accent. “Usually I get more warning when someone tries to stick me.”

“Better to ask forgiveness.”

“You don’t seem like the apologetic type.”

“You don’t seem stupid enough to sneak up on a man.” Andrew categorizes what he sees; the man appears to be in traveling gear. His boots looks sturdy and appropriately worn in; his shirt is nice but durable.

“Well, to be fair, I was distracted. It’s been a long trip.” The man shrugs and turns to look deeper into the forest. _ He’s an idiot for turning his back. Or he’s playing to lower my defenses. _“I’m Stuart, by the way.”

“I don’t care.”

“You say that a lot, don’t you?” Stuart has a faint smile on his lips. He still looks smug. Andrew desperately wants to wipe the grin off Stuart’s face. It reminds him of someone. _ Someone that annoys me. _

To be fair, plenty of people are annoying to Andrew.

“Is there a reason you are still talking to me? I thought you were traveling.”

Stuart snorts. He’s not threatened. That is his mistake. “Was. It’s time to set up camp. What about you? You’re not out here for a hike.”

_ Fair. _“You don’t need to know where I am going, and I do not need to tell you why I came here.”

“No,” Stuart agrees. He crosses his arms and tilts his head like a dumb bird, squinting while he looks at Andrew. “But most people run off dramatically into the woods when they’re upset.”

“How do you know I ran dramatically?”

“Well. You may not have run, but you’re dramatic.” Stuart nods toward Andrew’s shirt. “Unless you were in a particularly stylish asylum, you decided to dress yourself in a shirt with buckles on it this morning.”

Andrew does not look down. He also does not laugh. He decides that Stuart is annoying but—and only just a little—he has a point.

“So,” Stuart begins. He unclasps his cloak and throws it over his arm before he sits on a fallen log, sighing. “Tell a stranger? I have no one to betray you to.”

Tempting. _ Stupid. _ Stupid, but tempting. Andrew weighs the choice. This stranger has nothing to gain and Andrew has nothing to lose. Besides, Andrew can see little metallic things dangling from the person’s belt. _ Iron for fae, most likely. _There is no chance this is an errant prisoner or agent of the Court.

“I think I am attracted to a fool.”

Stuart is silent for a second before he bursts into laughter. The sound is unfettered and raucous, falling and rising like a rushing river. Andrew nearly rethinks his decision and shoots Stuart with needles again.

“Sorry,” Stuart manages as he catches his breath. He is still giggling when he continues. “I heard something like that about myself a few years ago. You would not be the first to be in this position.”

Andrew stares at Stuart. “I believe you are a fool. I’m not sure who’s attracted to you.”

It’s a lie. Stuart is objectively handsome. Still.

Stuart grins. “I was just as surprised as you. Speaking of which—let’s return to you. A fool?”

“An idiot. He’s—” Andrew pauses. He hadn’t planned on specifics, but he already made the mistake of saying _ he _. Stuart doesn’t seem deterred by it. “He’s oblivious. I thought he knew and was using it—”

“—but he said or did something to prove otherwise?”

“Something like that.”

Stuart hums in acknowledgment as he leans back on the log. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? It means he’s been true in everything he has done before.”

“He’s been truly stupid,” Andrew says, an edge slipping into his voice. All he can think of is Neil wandering into the forest, or Neil accepting Andrew’s interrogation. “If I were someone else…”

“What?”

“I could have taken advantage. Of everything he has done so far. He’s let—he’s agreed to things. Things I am sure made him uncomfortable.”

“Does that make you feel guilty?” Stuart drapes his arms over his thighs. He leans in, a glint in his eyes as he watches Andrew. “That you did these things because you suspected him?”

“No.” _ Liar. _“Not...guilty. Just...strange.”

Stuart nods. He looks back toward the path behind him, contemplative. “The world is still dangerous. Some people don’t know that. But the ones that do—well, we know how to be guarded.”

“I know I was right to be guarded.”

“Being guarded is easy,” Stuart continues. He nods toward Andrew’s armbands. “It’s being open that is difficult.” Stuart grins then, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Especially when you are attracted to an idiot.”

It’s annoying that he’s right.

Stuart sighs as he heaves himself up, stretching his arms toward the treetops as he goes. “You’re young. You have time to figure out what you want. But if you want him? Don’t wait. Believe me, all waiting does is waste time you could have spent doing better things. Like each other.”

Andrew stares as Stuart walks away, laughing. The sound echoes oddly in the woods and Andrew almost expects the man to disappear into a sudden mist. He is strange.

Maybe it was not the smartest idea to come into the forest or confide in a passing traveler, but Andrew doesn’t mind. He has made a lifestyle of high stakes and low expectations.

At least for now, Andrew has one less thing to worry about. He knows exactly what it is he wants.

It’s the action that’s going to be the hardest.

20._ dahlia coccinea _

Neil is right back in the garden. This time he’s barefoot; he left his boots at Andrew’s back door. He doesn’t need them anyway and it feels good to have grass underfoot.

It feels good to pretend that he has all the time in the world and nothing will ever touch him here.

The irises are giggling. Neil leans down to pick up a stray leaf and gets a sudden earful—

—_ ”Pretty...eyelashes...legs...eyes…” _

Neil feels his face warming up. He’s not sure why the gossiping flowers bother him or why it matters what they are saying.

Andrew taps Neil’s shoulder with a tiny shovel. He looks irritated. “You said you were going to help.”

“I am.”

Neil takes the shovel and stands carefully; he dusts his knees off before he follows Andrew, the voices of the garden overlapping like birds and water.

Andrew goes to the opposite side of the rose patch. He is as far away from Neil as he can get but Neil doesn’t take it personally. He has a feeling Andrew is just an aggravated person when he has to be around other people.

It’s a good thing Neil is not a real person.

They work in silence for a while. Neil forgets how long he has been weeding until he hears a sharp noise. He looks up to see Andrew holding a finger in front of his nose, a line of irritation between his eyebrows. He’s—

—”Bleeding,” Neil realizes. He is up and around the edge of the plot before Andrew can look up.

It’s probably something Neil will have to think about later but now, he doesn’t think as he crouches next to Andrew and holds his hands out. He is about to ask when Andrew turns his body and suddenly shifts toward Neil.

They sit in silence for a long moment while Neil tries to process this. _ He can’t trust me. He’s spent the last months trying to prove that he doesn’t. _

But Andrew held his hand out to Neil, even if he looks sour now at having done so.

“May I?” Neil asks. He feels like it’s important. He has to ask, even if it seems like he has approval.

Andrew’s jaw twitches like he’s clenching it. If he does, he manages to unstick it enough to say, “Yes.”

Neil cautiously reaches for the water bottle at his waist. He tips it over Andrew’s finger and watches the water run pink as it drips onto the earth.

It’s strange, holding someone else’s hand.

Andrew stares. Neil isn’t sure why but it feels like the air around him is heavy. He realizes without realizing how long it’s been that the garden is hushed. It doesn’t speak at all.

_ Maybe… _

A bird dives right into the grass beside Neil’s knee. He jolts a little at the sudden intrusion; the little pigeon is cooing agitatedly as it flaps its wings to reach Neil’s knee. There is a string of incoherent words—

—_ Aaron, stranger, pale, Aaron, danger _—

—and Neil is on his feet before he can think things through.

“What?” Andrew’s question is belated. Distracted. Neil barely realizes this; he is too focused on the bird. On the warning.

“Aaron.”

Neil starts to sprint. He doesn’t think about his shoes at Andrew’s house or the distance he has to run. He only runs and runs, his feet barely hitting the earth as he pushes himself as fast as he can go.

There are a thousand things running through Neil’s mind. He thinks about fae and he thinks about a cold, drawn face with pitch-black eyes. _ You belong to me. _

_ And you will never belong. _

Neil’s lips pull back into a silent snarl. His arms feel stiff, like he’s ready to lash out and hit someone or something. He can’t stop himself from thoughts of what could be wrong.

All the ways this could end. Every bad thing.

_ It could be my fault. _

Neil sees the house first. It’s visible from the path from miles down the road; Aaron always wanted to be accessible. There is a stranger on the front steps, hands grasping the banister on either side of his body. He is leaning forward, toward Aaron.

It’s Aaron that Neil focuses on. Aaron, who stands with his arms crossed, apparently more annoyed than afraid. Neil doesn’t care. It’s a stranger. A stranger and a man who is too close.

Neil vaults over the side of the porch. He is barely out of breath. Aaron turns to look at him, surprise clear on his face. “What—”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Aaron has a shit poker face. Neil wants to bury his face in his hands. Instead he asks, “Who’s this?”

“It’s…”

“I was Andrew’s brother. For a while,” the stranger says. He doesn’t smile. He slowly pulls back from the banister; he is large and Neil can see tattoos under the edges of his sleeves. “I just wanted to talk to him. He’s...difficult. I wanted to let him know he can still come to me.”

Neil looks over his shoulder. Andrew isn’t there yet and he wonders if maybe he was left behind. Maybe he went to get Kevin and the others.

_But he wouldn’t leave Aaron here._ _With just me. Would he?_

“He’s not here,” Neil says shortly. “Sorry.”

Aaron rubs a hand over his face. “I’m telling you, if things ended badly, there’s no chance he’s going to talk to you.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” the man asks, frowning. “I can wait inside. If he doesn’t want to come in, he doesn’t have to. You can tell him out here and I’ll wait. If he wants to talk, we can talk. Privately.”

Neil doesn’t miss the tacked-on word. _ Privately. _“Why privately? He—”

“—isn’t a fan of doing things publicly,” the man says. He mouth twists into a grim smile. “I’ve never minded.”

It feels wrong. Wrong in many ways. Neil doesn’t trust whoever this is and he wants to say _ no, _even if it’s not his place.

Aaron sighs. “Wait inside. I’ll tell him you’re here. Don’t expect much.”

The man nods slowly. “That’s all I can ask.”

Neil watches the stranger disappear. The sour taste in his mouth feels sharper. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Nothing is ever a good idea when it comes to Andrew. But he’ll just say no and leave.”

“We shouldn’t do this. It—”

“Aaron!” Nicky’s voice carries from the road and both Neil and Aaron turn, startled. “Aaron! It’s—I mean, my...my parents…”

“What?” Aaron takes the steps two at a time. Neil hesitates on the porch for a moment before joining them, still casting glances over his shoulder. _ Where is Andrew? _

Nicky is panting. He must have run; even with his long legs, he’s a slow runner. “It’s...I was just going to Andrew’s place and they...they were on the road. They’re just down the road. They said they came to see us and—”

“They know better,” Aaron says immediately. He looks back at the house and his weight shifts between his legs like he’s being pulled, like gravity is pushing him to the house and his family at the same time.

“Maybe. But...well, maybe—”

“Neil.”

“This is a bad idea,” Neil answers. He looks right at Aaron. He can see everything on Aaron’s face, in his eyes. He can see hope and exhaustion and a nervous preparation for the worst. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back,” Aaron says. His hands move and then stop midair before tentatively resting on Neil’s arms. “Just...Andrew. Talk to him. Watch—”

“I’ll try,” Neil says. _ For you. _“But I don’t think it’s safe.”

Aaron’s mouth thins into a flat line. “I know.”

Neil watches Nicky and Aaron take off down the road. He has only one thought in his mind.

The path back to Andrew’s looks empty. He can’t see Andrew but he runs anyway, sprinting as fast as he can. He can only think of what he has to say when he finds Andrew.

_ There’s a man at Aaron’s. I don’t trust him. He said he wanted to see you. _

Maybe Neil is wrong. Maybe he is too afraid of everything and everyone. Maybe he is seeing the worst because he has seen the worst.

_ But maybe I’m right. _Neil can’t think of one good reason why someone should be alone with Andrew. Someone Andrew doesn’t want to be around.

It is only when Neil is halfway back to Andrew’s that he stops in his tracks. He has a sick feeling in his gut.

_ I’m an idiot. _

Neil calls out to whatever answers. He waits until a crow overhead answers, its voice sharp and questioning.

_ “Where is Andrew? What happened? _”

The crow descends. It hops along Neil’s arm and tilts its head. _ Trail...family...house. _

It is a flash of language and images. Neil feels the bile rising in his throat before it is even over.

_ Nicky’s parents. They must have run into him. They sent him right there. _

_ Alone. _

_ This is a setup. _

Neil runs again. Runs faster. He can only imagine what happened—what the plan was. He can see Nicky’s parents in his mind, waiting on the road while the strange man went to Aaron’s house. They would have planned to find Andrew and send him to Aaron’s. They would have found Nicky and drawn Aaron away with promises, leaving Aaron alone with someone in the house. Someone he didn’t know was there. Someone they could lie about.

They could have told Andrew it was anyone. They could have told him it was someone he cared about and Andrew would have gone.

The grass is chattering. It sounds like a restless crowd. Neil tunes it out; he can’t let himself hear what it says.

He can’t bear to hear about it first.

Neil calls out again. He knows his words are uneven and confused but he calls anyway. _ “Go. Protect. _ ” He can’t think of anything else to say. The hawks overhead circle in a sudden, sharp formation and fly ahead of him. _ “Go. Andrew.” _

When Neil finally sees the house again, he sees Nicky and Aaron too. He sees Nicky’s parents by the road. The second Nicky’s parents see Neil running, something uneasy enters their eyes.

_ They did, _ Neil thinks. He wants to throw up. _ They did it. _

“Run!” Neil yells as he sprints by. He hears Aaron’s feet follow him immediately. Nicky’s join a second later.

Neil doesn’t remember if the door was locked or not. He only knows that he hits it with his entire body and it explodes inward. He can hear yelling from upstairs.

Neil crashes into a wall as he takes the corner hard. He bursts into the bedroom—

—there are angry caws everywhere. There is blood, too. The stranger is yelling and swatting.

Andrew is on the ground. He is halfway upright, his back against Aaron’s bed and unsteady laughter burbling past his lips.

It’s a nightmare.

Neil sees a flicker of something over the stranger’s body. “Magic,” he says. _ Of course. _“Fae—”

Aaron rounds the corner. Neil opens his mouth to say something but Aaron is already rushing forth, something in his hand.

It’s iron. Neil knows it is iron when Aaron shoves it against the stranger and the man screams. _ Fae blessings and curses, _ Neil thinks distantly. _ Once you are theirs and they give you power, you can never change. You can only twist. _

You twist until you resemble a monster more than a human.

Aaron pushes. The sound of breaking glass pierces the air and then the stranger tumbles—

—down, down down.

Neil only realizes he is panting after. After, the man is gone and the birds follow him out. Neil stands there in the center of the bedroom, heart erratic.

Andrew is still laughing in fits and bursts. There is no laughter in his eyes.

Aaron is on his knees in a second. “Andrew? Did—what—”

_ He’s not badly hurt. _ The thought comes to Neil robotically, categorizing the damage and the fallout. _ Blood on his forehead. Bruises on his arms. No other injuries. It looks like he can stand and walk. _

Neil still wants to vomit.

The fae magic is still heavy in the air. It swirls chaotically and Neil knows it is trying to latch onto whatever it can find. It is trying its best to hurt, even with the stranger gone.

Neil reaches behind him. His fingers fumble along a line of bottles Aaron keeps by his books. Neil knows the right one. He takes it and tries to open it but his hands are shaking. Instead Neil drops it, the shattering noise high and crystalline. It is nothing like the window.

A few scents rise from the ground. Flowers and herbs. Sage. Neil blinks and then it seems as if the room is brighter—like a haze is gone, pulled back and exorcised.

Andrew is not laughing anymore. He gets to his feet and throws up.

_ Nightmare, _ Neil thinks. _ This is a nightmare. _


	3. The Spruce

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184522567@N07/48757392182/in/album-72157710919215511/)

**Part 2**

_ **the spruce** _

_ 21\. asphodelus albus _

Aaron wakes up screaming.

It’s curious how simple it is. Aaron screams and bolts upright in bed. It’s over almost as quickly as it began. Neil is there in a heartbeat and he pulls Aaron against his chest just as quickly.

Aaron’s breathing is ragged. His hands curl into the front of Neil’s shirt. For a while, neither of them speak.

Finally, Aaron says something. HIs voice is a ragged whisper. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You did the right thing,” Neil says. “That wasn’t a human. It was a monster.”

The truth is, that might not be true. All Neil knows is that Drake was infected, just like everyone that tried to make a deal with the fae.  _ Never go into the woods and never promise it anything.  _ Everyone knew.

“That’s not true.”

Neil closes his eyes.  _ I know. _

They stay there for a few hours until Aaron falls asleep on Neil’s chest again and the morning light invades the corners of the window. Aaron is a knot of confusion and fright, and Neil does his best to untangle it. It’s only been three days.

When Aaron wakes up again, his eyes are tired. The green in them looks gray. “What I did hurt just as much.”

“No,” Neil says fiercely. “Never. You didn’t hurt Andrew. That monster did.”

Aaron laughs. It sounds wrong. “That’s what they called us. Monsters.”

Neil’s hands curl tighter on Aaron’s arms. He squeezes his eyes shut harder. If he can just stop seeing the world, maybe he can make hearing this pain easier.

_ That’s a lie. Nothing was ever easy. _

“You’re not,” Neil whispers. “Never.”

“Don’t say never.”

_ _

_ 22\. borago officinalis _

Neil doesn’t know what he’s doing when he goes into the woods. Aaron is gone, talking to someone about Drake, and Andrew—

—Andrew has been gone.

There is a lot that Neil wants to do. There are many people he wants to find and fights he wants to have. He is angry for someone else for the first time in his life and—

—maybe that scares him.

It’s terrifying to care enough to kill for someone.

Neil ends up in the forest and it’s not until he is walking off the path that he knows what he is doing. He goes into the darkness as the sky begins to dim and then he is deeper than he has ever been, far away from friends and sunlight and home.

_ Home. Do I have one now? _

The trees here don’t speak. They simply are. Their voices are low rumbles, wordless and old. They do not care about who is in their forest. They only care if there is danger.

Neil isn’t dangerous. Not to the forest.

When he is far enough, Neil presses a hand to the mark on his cheek. He can hear a stagnant pool in the distance so he goes to it. His fingers blindly rummage for a rock. When he finds one, he turns it until the sharp edge is out and then digs into his palm. It burns as his blood drips into the water, slow and thick.

_ “Show me,”  _ Neil says.

The water moves. It’s just a twitch at first, like a half-formed ripple. The dark water drips slowly upward, unnatural, like oil repelled by the pool. A larger form takes shape at the center of the pool. The black liquid drips over it as it rises and soon, there is something looking back at Neil.

Looking without eyes.

The thing is just as alien and skewed as the axolotl god, but something is different about it. Wrong. Its cheekbones are too sharp and its mouth is pulled into ragged edges. The thing’s hands are clawed.

_ “We wondered when you would return.” _

“I am not.”

It escapes Neil before he can stop it. He nearly doubles over in pain when a clawed hand sinks into the bottom of his chin, yanking his face upward.

_ “You are ours. You always have been. You always will be.” _

“No,” Neil spits. “But I have a deal.”

The creature withdraws slowly. It unhooks its claws one by one and Neil listens to the drip of his blood into the water. It feeds the apparition; the creature looks more solid, as if it could walk right out of the water.

_ “You have nothing to give,”  _ the creature says.  _ “Nothing we do not already have.” _

“You don’t have my power.”

It’s a mistake to say it. Neil does it on purpose.

The creature hiss-growls at him. It twists its clawed hand into Neil’s chest and he can feel the ragged edges of his skin screaming in protest. He wonders what the scar will look like. If it will seem like a black hole over his heart.

It’s fitting that he is giving his heart for the only people he has ever loved.

_ “We own you,”  _ the creature says. Its voice is hot on Neil’s face.  _ “Everything you are is ours. _ ”

“That’s not how it works,” Neil manages to grind out. “I have to give it willingly. You know that.”

There is a pause before the creatures screams in his face.

It feels like what Neil imagines being burned alive feels like. It makes him think of other things—

—death—

—and Neil shuts off.

_ There is only one way to deal with fae, Nathaniel. Dead. _

“Do you want it?” Nathaniel laughs. “I think you do.”

The creature hiss-snarls.  _ “We will have what we want.” _

“Of course. But you must give me what I want.”

_ “Mussssst.”  _ The creature laughs. Its clawed hand dances its way up Nathaniel’s chest and rakes at his neck.  _ “What is it you desire? Your mother? Your father?” _

Nathaniel’s mouth twists into a snarl. “I want you to stay away from that which is mine.”

The creature cackles. Nathaniel reaches into his pocket and slips a cold ring onto his finger. When he reaches out and curls his hand around the creature’s wrist, it begins to smoke.

_ “Iron? We are not here. You cannot touch us.” _

“No? You are here. Blood of my blood.”

The thing hisses. It cannot be killed this way but Nathaniel can dispel it. He knows how to play the game. He knows what it wants. So long as it wants and time is running out, all he has to do is wait.

He has done nothing but wait all his life. Wait for his death.

He can wait.

_ “We will not give you a city for a soul,”  _ the creature finally says.

Nathaniel laughs. “No. But you will give me the Minyards.”

The creature pulls back. It smiles when it goes. When it tilts its head, it is already chuckling.  _ “Two? Mirrors. Twins. Heart…” _

Nathaniel curls his hand tighter. “Make the deal, or lose my offer. Forever.”

The creature growls. Its mouth pulls back over its teeth and then it says,  _ “Make the deal.” _

Nathaniel closes his eyes. This will be almost all that he has left.

He doesn’t care.

“I, Nathaniel, will give myself this day for the safety of Aaron and Andrew Minyard.”

The creature laughs. It draws back, claws scraping as they slip from Nathaniel’s body.  _ “We will deliver.” _

“Good. It is done.”

_ “Now we will have what we want.” _

“Yes. You have me,” Nathaniel agrees. “What will you do with me?”

The creature’s smile wavers. Nathaniel can see the exact moment that it shatters. It would be funny if he didn’t know what would come next.

_ “You are this,”  _ the creature hisses. Its voice mounts to a shriek.  _ “You are OURS.” _

“Once,” Nathaniel says. “And today. But you will have to break me first.”

One day. One day is all he has promised, and he has promised it as Nathaniel. Nathaniel does not use his gift. He runs.

So, Neil runs.

It takes twenty seconds for the creature to catch him. Neil turns around and fights.

_ _

_ 23\. rosa rubiginosa _

Kevin is out in his greenhouse when Neil stumbles in.

_ Jeremy’s going to hate scrubbing blood off the glass,  _ Kevin thinks, and then he runs to the door.

“Neil. What—”

“Shhh…” Neil lifts a shaky finger to his lips and misses by an inch. His eyes close for a moment and then he forces them open again. His eyes are unfocused.

Kevin drags Neil to the closest chair. It’s Jean’s favorite, with a green cushion and woven bamboo making a basket-like shape. Neil tumbles into it and his head lolls for a second. He stares up at the ceiling.

“Kevin. Is it night? Stars…”

“Those are lights,” Kevin manages to say. He’s sprinting for the nearby sink to find a clean cloth and some water. “Keep talking.”

“Why? You...don’t like it. Say I talk too much.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“Oops,” Neil says softly.

Kevin runs back to Neil and smacks his knee against the corner of the cabinets. He doesn’t even notice. “What do you mean, oops?”

“That’s before.” Neil closes his eyes and sighs. “You before.”

“Me before?” Kevin hesitates as he tips water onto the rag in his hands. “What do you mean?”

The door to the greenhouse opens again. Kevin reaches for the shovel propped against the cabinets before he realizes it’s Jeremy.

“Kevin? I saw—oh, Lord.” Jeremy rushes back out the door before Kevin can speak.

Neil is quiet for a beat before he says, “I must look bad.”

“He didn’t run because of you,” Kevin says shortly. “He’s going for supplies.”

“You...regularly get banged up?”

“No.”

“Hm. Jean?”

“No.” Kevin clenches his fist around the rag in his hands. He tries to clean of a jagged gash on Neil’s neck.

Neil makes a low noise in his throat. “Then…”

“We keep it for emergencies,” Kevin finally says. “I think this is one.”

Neil giggles halfheartedly. It turns into a hiss when blood rises to the wound on his neck. “I...think my life is an emergency, Kevin.”

“I think so, too.”

None of this makes sense. Kevin tries to focus on the wounds.  _ Did something follow? _

He could never remember. He and Jean couldn’t remember. That was what happened with people that stayed with the fae too long. Wymack always said Kevin was there since he was a child. Jean remembered some things—he was older when he was taken—but he never spoke about it.

It had taken two years just to get Jean to open up with Jeremy and Kevin. They weren’t about to make him relive his time at the Court.

“What happened?” Kevin whispers. He isn’t sure if he’s asking Neil or himself.

Neil is quiet. Kevin’s eyes dart up; he half-expects to see Neil passed out.

Neil is crying.

_ He’s crying? _

“I did what I needed to.”

Kevin freezes. “You didn’t. Neil, you—”

Jeremy is back. He drops the first-aid kit onto the counter and opens it. The smell of alcohol wipes rises in the air while Kevin sits immobile at Neil’s feet.

_ A deal.  _

Wymack made a deal, too, with one of the fae that was supposed to be good. One of the better ones. He spends most of his time in a living cage of wood and leaves.

Even if he says it’s what he deserved.

_ And what will happen to Neil? _

“—in. Kevin,” Jeremy says, short and insistent. “Help me.”

Kevin moves slowly at first. He helps Jeremy wash the worst of the cuts and bandage others. Jeremy sews the worst ones shut, careful fingers stitching skin together.

“What did you promise?” Kevin whispers. Jeremy’s fingers stutter as he closes the last cut.

Neil blinks slowly. The tears are ending and there is a strange remoteness in Neil’s eyes.

“Myself.”

_ _

_ 24\. ornithogalum umbellatum _

A week feels like forever.

Neil hasn’t seen Aaron in that amount of time. It does not feel right. Neil keeps waking up and walking down the road only to turn around halfway through the process, sawdust in his mouth and his stomach turning.

Neil made Kevin promise not to tell.  _ They don’t need to know,  _ he said. Once Neil could speak without passing out. Kevin wasn’t happy. Jeremy wasn’t either. Jean just quietly took Neil home and left a plate of sandwiches when he left.

Andrew has been away the entire time.

Neil wanted to kill Nicky’s parents after Drake. That was the stranger’s name, he found out. Drake. Drake took a tumble out the window and ended right there. Apparently, whatever fae magic had held him together wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

They used them for what they wanted and when he couldn’t do the job, there was no reason to keep him.

“He’s in good hands,” Seth says.

Neil looks up from his letter. He’s only written two words. The jar by his desk is already half-full of requests but he hasn’t been able to write.

Seth sits on the kitchen counter. His hands dangle between his legs and he looks relaxed—or he would look relaxed, if Neil didn’t know him.

Everyone feels it these days. Tension.

“Bee,” Neil says. “I’ve never met her.”

“No? I’m surprised.” Seth shakes his head. “It’s the first person most of them make a new person see. Her and Wymack.”

“That’s—”

“Kevin’s...” Seth shuts his eyes for a second. “The one with the…”

“Curse.”

_ We’re all cursed here. _

“He says it’s not,” Seth mutters. “It’s  _ life,  _ he says. Just something he has to do. A consequence.”

“Of what?”

Seth shrugs. “Not being there, I guess.”

Neil doesn’t bother to ask. He doesn’t know if he can stand knowing.

It hurts to know.

It hurt to know about Andrew. Neil still hasn’t asked anything and never will. He did feel it, though. He knew from what he saw and heard. Just one day, just a few hours, and Neil knew a secret he never would have asked Andrew for.

It feels like cheating.

Neil has nothing to share. Nothing safe. Not when he is certain that he is being hunted and he doesn’t have time left.

He might not get to see Aaron ever again. Neil thinks that is what hurts the most. He feels the darkness clinging to him and all he can think is that he can’t explain to Aaron why he is going to disappear. Why Neil is going to die.

Neil isn’t even real.

“Andrew is coming back today,” Seth says.

Neil tries to focus on his letter. He drags his pen across the paper and drowns out the words. He only sees shapes. “Oh.”

“You want to see him.”

It’s not a question.

“I shouldn’t.”

Seth sighs. “You want to see him,” he repeats. “He’s back in a few minutes. Let’s go.”

Somehow Neil ends up with his shoes on. He follows Seth out the front door and squints in the sunlight. It’s too bright.  _ Is it summer? Or fall? _ He almost can’t remember when he first arrived.

When he was in the forest, he thought weeks went by.

No one has seen Neil. It’s been two weeks since Drake and one since Neil went into the forest. Neil has taken pains to avoid everyone. He can only hope Matt and Dan think he has a cold.

Neil can only hope he heals somewhat before he sees them. He still knows it won’t go over well. Some of the scars are ones he can’t hide.

Seth unlocks his truck when they get close. “Come on. I’ll let you pick the music.”

Neil lets his hand sit on the door handle for a good while.  _ Why? _

_ Why should I? What’s the point? _

_ I’m going to die soon and it’ll be easier if they don’t see me. _

_ It’ll be easier if I just disappear. _

Neil doesn’t realize he is breathing too heavily until he feels Seth’s hand on his back. “Neil. Listen. Can you feel your heartbeat?”

_ Dead men have no pulse. _

Neil laughs. It comes out choked. He isn’t sure whether it’s his own voice in his head or something else. He closes his eyes and listens.

The grass is whispering. It’s softer than Neil remembers it being, before he went into the forest. Like the grass is trying to be quiet for him. The words it speaks are quiet.

_ Worried. Friends. Time… _

“It’s been a long time,” Neil finally says.

Seth nods. “Yeah. It has.”

Neil pulls himself into Seth’s truck. The ride into town is mostly quiet. The radio stays off and Seth doesn’t remind Neil that he can change it.

Being away from everyone has only reminded Neil how much he is risking. How much he has to lose. All he can think about is how there is a creature lingering in the woods, biding its time until it decides to come for Neil.

The thing about fae is that they don’t experience time the same way as humans do. They live at their own pace and experience life in a way that is almost not life at all. They do not have to worry about death or disease the same way humans do. They can do whatever they want.

When Seth pulls up to the office in town, Neil almost wishes he hadn’t come.

Seth turns the truck off. He sits in not-quiet-silence as the engine grumbles. The world outside is still too bright.

“You don’t have to rush it.”

Neil shakes his head mutely. He doesn’t think he can open his mouth. If he does he might spill. Seth just opens his door and steps out. Neil waits and closes his eyes.  _ I am not theirs. Never. _

_ Not even if they take me. _

Neil breathes out slowly. He leaves the truck before he can second-guess himself and walks toward the office before him. Seth leans against the front of the truck, arms crossed. “I’ll be here.”

“I know.”

It doesn’t look the way Neil thought it would inside. It’s almost entirely glass, floor to ceiling windows allowing sunshine to illuminate the waiting room. There is a garden beyond the glass walls of the front desk; it looks as if the building is a hollow square with foliage in the center.

_ I wonder what the flowers say about the patients. _

“Neil.”

Neil turns at the sound of Aaron’s voice. He realizes then that he’s made a mistake. Aaron’s eyes widen and his mouth opens soundlessly. He doesn’t stand from his seat but a few papers slide from his hands and dance weightlessly to the floor. “Neil?”

“I’m…”  _ Sorry? Here? _ Neil feels his hand shaking inside the pocket of his jacket.

Aaron shakes his head. He looks like he is going to come over, but the door beside him opens and a woman appears. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and her glasses look like they’ve slipped a little too far down her nose. There are lines at the inner corners of her eyes. She looks like she should be tired.

“Aaron.” It can only be Betsy, Neil thinks. Bee. She smiles and even that motion looks exhausted. “It’s good to see you.”

Neil doesn’t listen. He is focused on the person emerging behind Betsy.

Andrew looks like shit.

It’s not really any one thing that makes Andrew look like he died and was dug up. He has dark smudges around his eyes and his hair is a mess that sticks out in too many directions. Andrew’s shirt is too loose and not his; it’s some touristy white aberration with violently bright lettering on the front.

Andrew’s armbands are gone. In their place he wears blackish-green cloth.

The room is silent. Andrew does not say anything but walks right toward the door where Nicky suddenly is. Andrew doesn’t bother to move his cousin. He just waits for Nicky to step aside and walks toward the black car in the parking lot.

Aaron looks at Neil. He seems—

—scared.

“I’m…”

Neil shakes his head. “Let’s go.”

“He is going to need your help,” Bee says as they begin to walk away. She raises her voice as if that can stop them. “This isn’t the end.”

_ No,  _ Neil thinks.  _ Not unless I leave. _

_ _

_ 25\. dahlia pinnata _

Neil looks like shit. Andrew starts looking and stops. He’s not sure whether it’s fury he feels or aggravation. He’s not sure who he is angry at.

Andrew drives to his house. He cannot go back to Aaron’s yet. When he pulls into the driveway, Nicky looks like he’s ready to explode. Kevin is on the front porch. Jeremy and Jean are probably nearby.

They all think they can help. Andrew itches to send them away.

_ It won’t help. None of it will. _

Andrew exits the car and stands by the door. Nicky lingers nervously and glances between Andrew and the house. “If you need us to—”

“Go.”

It’s all he has to say. Nicky and Aaron start to walk away and Neil almost does, too. He sways a little like he wants to.

Andrew takes Neil in properly for the first time. There are raking scars across Neil’s neck. It looks like he has scrapes on his wrists. The edges of black stitches poke out from the right side of his shoulder despite the jacket he tried to cover it up with.

“This.” Andrew wiggles his fingers at a scar that sits on Neil’s collarbone. “Seems as if—”

“You said to watch him,” Neil says. “I did. And—”

Andrew feels the acute desire to hit something. There is no tree nearby and no punching bag either, so he settles for grinding the heel of his boot into the dirt underfoot. It doesn’t help much. “I said that. I said it more than three weeks ago.”

“Promises don’t have an expiration date,” Neil says quietly.

Somehow Andrew doesn’t think Neil means it as to be as romantic as it sounds.

“That is what this is? Watching him. How did you manage to watch with your blood?”

“That is not what this is,” Neil says. He seems bolder. As if he was testing Andrew before.  _ Like he doesn’t want to break me. Stupid.  _ “This was not for him. Not entirely.”

“Then who?”

_ You know,  _ a voice whispers in Andrew’s ear.  _ You do. _

Neil shifts on his feet. “Other people.”

_ Do you want to know? _

Andrew decides then that he does not. He does not need it in words; not now. In fact, he wants to avoid the words if he can. He is too fresh from feeling to let this scrape against his still-open wounds.

The garden is agitated in the distance. Andrew catches flashes as he stands there, images of Matt and Dan visiting to weed and other snapshots of Jeremy watering the plots. It was well-tended but it wants Andrew back.

_ I will be buried in that dirt one day. _

“This cannot happen again,” Andrew says. He waves vaguely at Neil. “You are of no use—”

“—to you if I don’t protect him?” Neil shakes his head. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“I can.” Andrew wants to take the words back out of Neil’s mouth.  _ Not to me.  _ “If you do this for me, I will do something for you.”

Neil swallows. It looks like it hurts—like Neil is swallowing a rock.  _ Is it that hard to do this with me?  _ Andrew isn’t sure why he cares.

“If you want to make a deal for this...stop taking the potion.”

Andrew’s foot stops digging into the earth. “The potion.”

“I know you take something that Aaron makes.” Neil’s blue eyes waver. That’s what is different, Andrew thinks. They are less blue. There is a filter over Neil’s eyes, like he is seeing the world through dirty glass.

“That is a useless thing to ask.”  _ It helps me. Not you. _

Neil knows exactly what Andrew is thinking. Andrew can tell when Neil looks him in the eye and says, without skipping a beat, “No. It is what I want. Will you agree?”

Want.  _ He wants.  _ Andrew can taste the remnants of Bee’s hot chocolate on his tongue. His hands feel sticky and dirty from being in a strange bed in a strange room for too long. He needs a shower and sleep.

But Andrew is still thinking about the way Neil, despite his new scars and old reservations, still looks like he would be warm to the touch.

“I won’t,” Andrew finally says. “But I will do it. Deal for a deal.”

“Deal for a deal,” Neil says. He sounds deflated.

Andrew wants—

—something.

_ You have to let yourself say it,  _ Bee said.  _ Even just inside. _

Andrew makes the executive decision to want tomorrow. He is done for today.

_ _

_ 26\. lonicera caprifolium _

After a week of being back, Andrew seems like he never left the garden. Neil stands at the far end of the path, by Andrew’s back door, and watches. Andrew sits on the path and plucks a few weeds with his bare hands. His armbands are back, a muted carpet of grass covering pale skin.

The flowers whisper.  _ Here. Red-blue. Pretty. _

Neil doesn’t know what to make of the flowers’ compliments. He’s not sure where they are getting their words from. The roses are always romantic and the irises—

—well. They’re irises.

Andrew stops suddenly and looks up. He is probably glaring. “Well.”

It’s not a question, like most questions Andrew poses. Neil looks down and uses the toe of one shoe to pull the other one off at the heel. “Well,” he agrees.

Andrew stares the entire time Neil walks down the path. It’s a warm day with an occasional breeze. The wind tickles Neil’s cheek and reminds him of the twisted curse mark there. It morphed after his last encounter. The fine lines twisted into a mess.

Neil lowers himself a few inches away from Andrew. It’s nice to set his bare feet on the earth and feel its energy. The grass whispers words about his visit while he settles in.

The irises are saying something about Neil’s legs. He tries not to pay attention.

“You shouldn’t do this without gloves.”

“You mean like you are?”

Andrew’s eyes narrow as he looks at Neil. He looks like the annoyed street cats Neil passes in town and tries to feed. “Why are you here.”

“I just...wanted to see the garden.” Neil shrugs, lost.  _ Why am I here? _

Andrew’s mouth flattens into a line. He looks like he wants to stab something with his hand rake. “Do you need ink.”

“You keep not asking questions.” Neil shakes his head. “No. I have enough.”

_ Why am I here? _

Andrew runs his finger along the edge of an uneven stone on the path beside him. Neil watches and imagines Andrew setting each stone down, building a path from his home to the one place he seems at home. Andrew never fits into spaces the way most people do. Neil thinks they may have that in common.

For some reason, Neil has the urge to speak. He feels like the words are just waiting to fall off his tongue and he’s unsure whether he should say anything. He doesn’t know if he can.

“The forest,” Andrew says. Neil blinks and wonders how long he was distracted. “Is it still...safe?”

The forest is never safe, but Neil doesn’t say so. He knows what Andrew means. “Yes. Just—don’t let Kevin in.”

“I don’t. Not unless it’s Wymack,” Andrew corrects himself.

Neil breathes in and exhales slowly. He lets himself unwind in inches. “You aren’t going to ask why?”

“I have my reasons for why.” Andrew’s jaw twitches like he is biting on bone. “Why did you go in?”

“I had to see,” Neil says quietly.  _ If they can reach us here.  _ “Make sure.”

Andrew tosses the hand rake at his ankle away. It clatters on the stones and the garden murmurs, unsettled. Neil just waits.

He could tell Andrew. Maybe in another world, Neil would. He might say  _ the fae took me once, and I remember it all. _ He might say that Kevin was there and Jean, too. Neil would tell Andrew that  _ I’ve been running from them all my life. Running from the forest. _

And here Neil is, living right at its edge.

“Whatever you think you are saving him from, you are not.”

“It’s not him I went in for.”

Andrew stills. He is like a stone gargoyle perched at the edge of the garden, an almost polar opposite of the soft flowers and fragrant herbs around them. Andrew is rigid and unyielding.

_ That’s not true.  _ Andrew might be a wall but Neil has seen enough to know he’s not made of stone. He yields, when it comes to Kevin and Aaron. When it comes to his flowers. Andrew is still until he is moved, and he is only moved when he wants to be.

_ I wonder if I… _

“You are a fool,” Andrew says. He moves closer and his hand curls on Neil’s chin. His thumb is just under Neil’s lower lip. He smells a little bit like salt and dirt and smoky wood—

—and then Andrew kisses him.

It lasts only a few seconds. Andrew pulls back and then Neil sits, thoughtless, his heart racing and his legs completely still.

Andrew’s eyes narrow.

It feels—or felt—like petals, a little dry and soft. Or maybe something else? There was taste, or maybe it was smell. Neil doesn’t know what should go where; he’s unsure whether he should laugh or cry.

Andrew’s hand falls. Neil wants to catch it in midair but he’s too slow. “This is not happening right now.”

“What?” Neil is still far behind, lost in trying to explain what it is he felt when Andrew touched him.

Andrew holds a finger up. “Stop.”

“I’m not—”

“We are not doing this while you are having a breakdown.”

_ I’m not,  _ Neil wants to say, but that would be a lie and he would never lie to Andrew. Neil is probably more than broken, but it doesn’t feel like the kiss is breaking him more. It feels like it’s…

...reshaping? Changing, like a mosaic.

Neil opens his mouth and all that comes out is, “We.”

“One-track mind,” Andrew mutters. His cheeks are red.  _ Is he blushing? _ “Go home, Neil. Take your ink with you.”

Neil feels a puff of air escape him. It takes Andrew turning to stare for Neil to realize it was a laugh. “I didn’t come for ink. Remember?”

“I remember.” Andrew’s lips press together. “Later.”

“Later,” Neil agrees. He stands and walks back to the house where his shoes are waiting.

The flowers are singing the entire time.

_ _

_ 27\. castanea sativa _

“You’re not running away to me, are you?”

Seth doesn’t laugh. Aside from the backpack on his shoulder, it is the one thing that tells Neil that something is wrong.

“Your place is too small.” Seth glances over his shoulder. He shifts his weight between his feet like he’s debating whether he should say anything. Neil tries to swallow his worry. “My...friend. He needs help. I’m leaving for a while.”

“Okay.”

Seth bites at his bottom lip. He still looks like he’s trying to decide whether he should say something and it’s making Neil itchy. “What?” Neil finally asks. “You don’t have to tell me—”

“Something is wrong with this land,” Seth says quietly.

Neil stops breathing.  _ Does he know? What has he seen?  _ “What do you mean?”

“I mean...I don’t know what I mean,” Seth mutters. He glares off towards the woods. “There’s a curse. I can feel it. Something dark is coming closer.”

“And you’re leaving,” Neil says before he can stop himself.

Seth’s eyes dart back to Neil. “Yes. I have to.”

“I know.” Neil rubs at his eyes. It isn’t even that late and he feels...tired. Worn thin.

All Neil wants is to enjoy his last few days, but the stitches have only just come out. His wounds haven’t even properly scarred yet.

He still wakes sometimes with the echo of a clawed hand on his neck.

Neil doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for the end with lemonade on Andrew’s back porch. There is something coming and if he is not careful, it will take everyone he cares about when he is gone.

“Matt and Dan want to see you,” Seth says. He hikes his backpack up and turns to leave. “Watch out for yourself.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Neil only allows himself to watch Seth go for a few more seconds. He goes back into his house then and quickly grabs a backpack that sits by the front door. Neil tosses in a few things without much thought—a change of clothes, gardening gloves, a few of Aaron’s potions, some sandwiches from the counter, and a tightly-bound leather journal with stationary supplies inside. Neil shoves everything into his backpack and throws it on before he bends to shove his feet into his worn boots.

There’s a flower.

Neil pauses in the middle of lacing his boots to stare at the tiny yellow flower. It’s a weed, really, but it is bright. The stem is delicately looped through Neil’s shoe.

_ Andrew. _ Neil knows immediately that it was him. He doesn’t even know when Andrew did it, but he knows it was him. Neil shuts his eyes and tries to remember what it was like in the garden with Andrew’s hand on his chin.

_ You are a fool. _

_ I want to see him again.  _ Neil opens his eyes. When he leaves through the back door and locks up, he almost starts to walk toward Andrew’s place.  _ I want to see him. _

_ More than that. I want to kiss him again. _

Andrew feels real. Of everything that Neil has felt since leaving the Court years ago, Andrew is the first thing that has felt right.

Not easy. Not simple.

Right.

Neil keeps telling himself  _ soon  _ as he walks into town, determined to make it to Matt and Dan’s. All he wants to do is turn on his heel and run to Andrew. All he wants is to spend the next few weeks there until Tetsuji comes for him.

Until the twisted half-fae curls his hand on Neil’s throat once again, a pretty smile filled with razor-sharp teeth and eyes blacker than emptiness.  _ You are ours. _

_ You belong to us. _

“Neil? Neil, are you okay?”

Neil blinks and finds himself in front of Dan. She has a basket of something on her hip but she looks more concerned about Neil than anything else.

_ I’m here. _ Neil shakes his head. “I just—”

“Come on.” Dan waves him closer. She waits until Neil follows before skirting the edge of the front porch.

Dan and Matt’s house looks a little bit out of place. It is a ranch-style place with a wide, flat profile. The fence around the back of the house is low and mostly for show; the animals Matt and Dan work with are mostly wild and never kept against their will. There are a few horses in the back and some deer, too. A few chickens walk by as Neil follows Dan to the back porch.

Matt sits cross-legged on the back porch. He has some kind of desk on its side; his legs are bent into the spaces between the desktop and its legs. Matt is completely absorbed by his task.

“Babe!” Dan calls. “It’s Neil!”

Matt’s head pops up immediately. He grins widely and somehow manages to untangle himself from his work in two seconds. Matt jumps off the porch and meets Neil before he’s even close to the house.

“Hey.” Matt opens his arms and Neil steps forward before he can reconsider. Despite how much bigger Matt is, Neil doesn’t feel suffocated by the hug. He lets himself relax into it and ends up holding on longer than he expected. Matt’s voice is a rumble that vibrates through Neil as he says, “Hey. What is it?”

Neil pulls back and shakes his head.  _ How do I explain? Should I even try? _

“You can stay here as long as you need,” Dan says.

“I’m not running,” Neil says. It comes out before he registers what the words mean.

They’re true. He stopped running the second Aaron found him.

Matt crosses his arms slowly. “Okay. What do we need to do?”

He says it as if that’s it. Neil probably stares a little bit too long because Dan jumps in. “We’re your friends, Neil. Anything we can do, we’ll try.”

“It’s…”  _ It’s just unbelievable. Just like that? No one would do something just like that. Without knowing. _

“It’s not too much,” Dan says patiently. “You’ve come around to deliver Aaron’s potions to us. You’ve brought us lunch. Sent our letters.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is. And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. We are your friends. We want to be your family,” Dan adds, a little softer. “We’ll do what we can because we care about you.”

“No price for love,” Matt says. He’s still smiling.

If Neil were the type to cry, he thinks he’d be crying.

“Okay.” Neil nods. “I’m not doing anything I haven’t done before. Seth told me you wanted to see me. I think I know why.”

Matt glances at Dan. He shifts uneasily, left hand rubbing his right arm. “Yeah. We wanted to ask, but if you have something—”

“No,” Neil says.  _ This is the something.  _ “It’ll help me. I promise.”

It’s true. It will help Neil. The closer he is to the curse, the better he’ll be able to tell how to stop it. He needs to know if it’s Kengo or Tetsuji’s work. He needs to know just how fucked he is.

“All right.” Dan turns to grab something from the porch behind her.  _ Gloves. _ “Let’s go.”

Matt walks behind Neil. It’s strange how fine it feels for him to be there, when Neil would be crawling out of his skin with most men at his back. He learned with the fae that it was safer with his back to a wall. At least he could always see pain coming.

“We noticed about a week ago,” Dan says. She leads the way into the forest, first along the path, then away from it. Even this far from trouble, Neil can hear the whispers of unease echoing around him. “It started small. Birds moving from the area. Then it was rabbits. Deer.”

“They’re bad,” Matt says quietly. “We manage to help the ones that get to us, but we’ve found some in the forest that are just dead.”

“Dead how?” Neil asks.

Matt and Dan don’t have to answer. Only three minutes into their trek, the signs of a curse begin to manifest.

The dead leaves on the ground aren’t just dead. They are sickly and gummy, the earth beneath them a tainted yellowy-brown. Nothing is decomposing the way it should be. Any life that could be passed on is gone. The trees have a grayish hue to their bark, too much like stone and not enough like something living.

This is what it looks like when all the life has been leeched out of something living. When there is nothing left for a living thing to give back.

It’s what Neil will probably look like.

“How much further?” Neil asks. He wants to touch but knows it will be useless now. He has to get closer.

“Maybe five minutes,” Dan says.

The further they walk, the worse it gets. Neil can smell it like an infection. Every wilted flower and broken branch feels like a punch to the chest.  _ All this for me. All this death. _ He has never stayed in place this long. Seeing the effects is almost as bad as watching it die.

This is how the fae get what they want. They choke and kill and wait until their prey is struggling. They watch like cruel hunters over a rabbit in a trap and then, when everything is despair and panic, they break your neck.

_ Every emotion is a taste,  _ Tetsuji had said.  _ And struggle is a feast. _

Dan stops. “It’s in this clearing but you shouldn’t—”

“I need your help,” Neil says. He can’t remember ever saying the words before. Dan’s mouth falls shut and she waits for him to finish. “I have to touch it.”

“No,” Matt says immediately. “Neil, if you do—”

“It won’t curse me,” Neil says. “It only works if you’re human.”

Neil feels the silence like a hulking thing. He waits for the inevitable; the anger, the fear, the repulsion. It must be clear; he knows it is.  _ What else am I but exactly what everyone thought I was? _

“Won’t it still hurt?” Dan asks.

Neil blinks. “I…”

“Isn’t there any other way?”

_ I didn’t think you would care. _

He was stupid to think that. Barely ten minutes ago Dan said she wanted to be like family.  _ Funny. If she knew she wouldn’t have said that. _

“No,” Neil finally said. “I’ll be fine. Just...if you have to carry me back, I’m sorry.”

Matt snorts. “You don’t weigh more than a handful of grapes. I’m more concerned about what’s going to lash out if you touch it.”

“Something nasty,” Neil says as lightly as he can. “But it’s okay. I can handle it.”

_ I’ve handled worse. _

Neil steps into the clearing. The ground seems to sink under his feet like rotten floorboards. A sour smell rises up toward him with every step. There are no sounds here—no birds, no animals, no insects. The leaves on the trees aren’t even moving. It feels like there’s no air.

The darkness is spread like veins along the earth and trees. It branches in black lines and grasps at everything it touches. The spidery lines seem inevitable even as Neil is the one walking toward them.

If it were before, Neil would be running as fast as he could. He has something to protect now. He doesn’t run.

Neil slowly sinks to his knees. The dead foliage feels tacky on his knees. He kneels before a black spot and takes a deep breath before he reaches out to touch it.

The effect is immediate. A spike of pain drives through Neil’s head, right between his eyes. It feels like being stabbed with a nail. Neil grits his teeth and bites back a pained noise while the curse works.

There are images in short bursts. Illness, infection, death. Neil feels a secondhand triumph, insidious and uncaring.  _ Mine,  _ a voice says.  _ All mine _ .

It is Tetsuji. Neil knows the voice like metal shavings and bone against knife. The scrape is tangible. It’s painful to hear.

When he was at the Court, Neil’s ears would bleed any time Tetsuji spoke. They still ring to this day.

Something shifts in the curse. It knows he is there. Neil starts to pull his hands back but feels the darkness reaching back. It’s stronger than he anticipated. Tetsuji should not be able to reach this far.

_ Mine,  _ the voice says. It sounds almost gleeful.  _ You are mine. _

“No,” Neil says. It is half-bitten and he tries to pull his hands back. They won’t move. “No—”

_ My Nathaniel. My _ —

Neil can’t form words. He only opens his mouth and lets out a scream full of the fury and panic resting in his chest.

He already knows he is dead but somehow, Neil can’t let himself go quietly.

There are voices yelling in Neil’s ears. He can’t make out what they are saying. He only knows the burning pain of the curse gripping him and then nothing as he falls backward, his back painfully impacting the earth. His breathing comes too heavily and then, almost as quickly as it began, it ends.

Neil’s last thought before he passes out is  _ good. _

_ He is only here for me. _

_ _

_ 28\. campanula persicifolia _

“You look like shit.”

Neil glances up from the flowerpot he is packing dirt into. A brief smile flickers on his lips. “Are you flirting with me?”

Andrew tries to glare at Neil but gives up halfway in favor of kissing him. It’s his preferred method of stopping Neil from saying stupid things.

This should not be—

— _ easy?  _ It should not be. It shouldn’t.

Neil has always been pretty. He has always been a beautiful, strange creature with his bright blue eyes and freckled golden skin. Neil has always been frustrating with his perfect, tanned legs and wild red hair. The concept of Neil as an attractive person is not new.

What is new is what Andrew feels when he is around Neil.

Andrew should not feel at all. Not for a stranger. His limit in relationships is a carefully controlled and defined encounter, usually limited to one occurence. 

They’ve kissed too many times to count, now.

That’s another thing. Andrew could count them all if he wanted to and remember them, too—but he doesn’t bother. He just knows that it’s almost as constant as breathing. Neil comes over for ink on a Monday and they stand in the kitchen for a good five minutes, kissing, until Neil accidentally knocks something over and Andrew sighs. Neil comes on Tuesday and helps weed the front garden; Andrew bites at his lip and learns that Neil has a very intriguing moan when he is—

—well.

By Friday, Andrew notices two things. One is that Neil looks like he’s had a string of long nights. The other is that, perhaps because he is tired, Neil’s reactions to Andrew are all impossibly close to the surface.

Like this. Andrew brushes his hand over Neil’s leg when he reaches for a shovel and Neil shivers. It runs up his entire body. It almost makes Andrew want Neil to do something.

Neil’s tentative question seems as heavy as his gaze when he glances over. “Andrew?”

Andrew shakes his head. He feels a flicker of frustration at the betrayal of his own body; he feels magnetically attracted to Neil even now, when Andrew is trying to figure out what is wrong. “What were you doing yesterday?”

“Not much.” Neil’s gaze flickers like a candle, bending and brightening in intensity at odd intervals. “Why, did you miss me?”

_ Yes.  _ “No. I guess you didn’t hear about Matt and Dan.”

“Hear what?”

He doesn’t say no. Andrew leans back on his heels until he is sitting on the garden path, stone cool even through his clothes. “Their land. They think it’s cursed.”

“I heard,” Neil says quietly.

Stupid. Neil hasn’t even been around for a year and yet somehow, he’s managed to give a shit about everyone he has met. Neil, whom Andrew is very sure avoids people as much as he can.

It feels dramatic and ridiculous to say Neil has chosen them all, but Neil is dramatic and ridiculous. It fits.

“It won’t come close. It never does,” Andrew says. He doesn’t know if he’s reassuring Neil or repeating obvious information. Andrew has never reassured anyone.

Neil draws a leg up to his chest. He rests his cheek on his knee and looks sideways at Andrew; his gaze is a little distant, as if he is staring into the distance just beyond Andrew’s shoulder. “What did the god say? When you went to talk to it?”

“Nothing useful.” It feels like an equally vague answer. Andrew would have stopped here before, but—

—but. It’s Neil.

Andrew sighs and gestures toward the trees. “All it said was that I knew what I needed to. Then it acted like it knew me.”

Neil’s lips flicker into a smile. “And what did you need to know?”

“If you could be trusted.”

“You trusted me then?”

“I wasn’t afraid of you.”

“I would never try to scare you.”

“Of course. You just enjoy running into the very dangerous woods.” Andrew blinks and turns his face to the sun.  _ That’s too much truth. _

He is not going to say Neil has scared him before. Andrew isn’t even sure if he can say it’s true, or if it is only in retrospect that his heart beats faster at the thought of Neil stumbling upon fae.

Neil is close. Andrew didn’t realize before but he does now; Neil leans close, the smell of flowers clinging to his skin like it always does, like the flowers can’t stand to leave him.

“I know you’re running,” Andrew says . “I said I could protect you.”

It sounds childish. Feels childish. Andrew wants to tear at the roots beneath his palms.  _ What use is this? _ He can see Neil. Andrew knows Neil, every inch, and he knows Neil won’t say yes. He knows Neil will fight this, no matter how much he needs it.

They have that in common.

“You’re protecting Kevin,” Neil says. It sounds like a reminder. Or maybe a prayer. “That’s your job. I—”

“I told you to look after him,” Andrew says. “That’s how I’m doing it. So I can—”

“—look after me?” Neil’s voice cracks just a little. Andrew wants to take Neil’s face in his hands and shake it until this stops. Until the world rights itself again. “That’s not how it works.”

“It works how I say it does. I am the one that made the promise.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Neil whispers. It sounds like the last confession of a dying man. Like someone on their deathbed, facing the end of the road and the blackness beyond, losing their strength at the last moment. It comes from nowhere and yet—

—it sounds right. That is the worst part.

It unsettles Andrew. “Then don’t,” he says, a little harsher than he means to. He turns toward his house and clenches his jaw before he adds, “Not tonight. Just—stay.”

Neil is still staring like Andrew is an alien. Something about the uncertain awe makes Andrew feel exposed. Raw. If it were anyone else, he’d be far past itching to stab them. With Neil…

...Andrew turns fully and takes Neil’s chin in his hand. He brings them together, allowing this weakness like he has never allowed anything before. It seems to be a theme, Neil breaking the rules.

If he is going to, Andrew figures he might as well follow Neil along for the ride.

_ What is it they say? Breaking rules makes you feel alive? _

It doesn’t feel like his life before, but it feels kind of close. Andrew thinks he might not hate it.

_ _

_ 29\. melissa officinalis _

“Did Andrew ever tell you?”

Neil looks up from his desk. Aaron sits at Neil’s window, legs pulled up to his chest and head resting against the glass. “Tell me what?”

“Our...curse.” Aaron’s smile is dry. Neil wonders what he is looking at.

“He doesn’t have to. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe.”

Neil pushes his pens and paper away and turns in his chair. He sits backwards in it and adjusts himself until he is comfortable; until the ache in his back is lesser and Neil is instead distracted by the memory of spending the night with Andrew and how impossibly perfect it had felt.

They slept soundly. Neil wonders if Andrew always does. He knows he doesn’t.

“Do you want to tell me?” Neil prompts.

Aaron rubs his hands over his face. He huffs out a sigh and then turns to look at Neil, something grim and wary on his face. “He’s...well. I’m technically a changeling.”

Neil can feel every muscle in his body contract. He doesn’t move when he carefully asks, “What do you mean?”

“They came to take one,” Aaron says. It almost seems like he isn’t hearing what Neil says. “They didn’t know we were twins. Instead of replacing, they took Andrew and left me with a...gift.”

Neil can’t respond. All he can do is think about Andrew, a pale child in the fae court, and what they would have done with him. To him.

_ I don’t want to know this.  _

Aaron is still talking. “They gifted me. Gave me protection—from the fae, the strange, anything like that. I would never be taken or killed the way anyone else could be. But it didn’t protect me from humans.”

“Aaron. You don’t—”

“It was never creatures that hurt me,” Aaron says. His musing sounds distant, like he doesn’t connect the pain to himself. “Just people. My mother. She...called them. She’s why they came.”

“Stop.”

Aaron blinks. He blinks and Neil breathes carefully; he rises from his seat and walks to Aaron.

Aaron is crying. They are not large, endless tears. They are the painful tears, wrung out one drop at a time. Neil brushes Aaron’s hair away from his face and holds him carefully, almost afraid to touch.

“It isn’t your fault. You were hurt, too.”

Aaron shakes his head once. He squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them before he says, “Why did they take him? Why did they leave me? They should have—”

“They should never have come at all,” Neil says. “It’s not your fault.”

Aaron leans his forehead against Neil’s chest. He is quiet for a long time and Neil just holds him. It is all he knows how to do. He can’t promise to fix this. Neil can’t offer words of wisdom or anything remotely comforting. All he can do is hold Aaron close and wait for it to end.

_ Or… _

“I was at the Court,” Neil whispers. Aaron stiffens in his arms. “Since I was a child. I must have been five when they took me to the King. I was there for years.”

Aaron is silent. Neil almost pulls away; he imagines Aaron reaching for a potion or a knife. Something to protect himself, because Neil must be dangerous. All things from the Court are dangerous.

“Is that...when you mimic sounds, are you…”

Neil pulls back, confused, to look at Aaron. “What?”

“Are you—can you speak to...things?”

“Aaron.” Neil isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. “Did you not realize that already?”

“No one did,” Aaron replies gruffly.  _ Not exactly true,  _ Neil thinks, but he doesn’t say as much. “I wasn’t sure what to think. Andrew doesn’t understand, you know. When he talks to the garden.”

“I know.”  _ He thinks he doesn’t. _

_ But he does. _

Neil bites his lip. He worries at it, uncertain, and wonders whether he should speak. Whether it’s his place.  _ I am leaving,  _ he thinks,  _ and this is all I have left.  _ He opens his mouth and says, “Kevin and Jean were there, too.”

“What?” Aaron pulls back. His expression is pure shock and alarm, as if he thinks he has to cut contact with Kevin and Jean. The thought of Aaron skirting around them almost makes Neil laugh.

“They don’t remember. That happens, if you’re there for so long and then you come back to the real world. You can forget. They can make you forget.”

“But you remember.”

“I do.” Neil closes his eyes. He can see the glowing light in the trees if he tries. Neil can breathe in the smell of wood, smoke, and water. He can imagine he is walking through paths populated by sharp-faced fae, their voices sticky-sweet and their nails long. “I was there until my mother made a deal for me to leave.”

“That must have been some deal,” Aaron murmurs. There is a furrow between his brows and a strange guilt in his eyes, like he thinks he’s in part responsible for a past he never knew about.

Neil nods. “My father. He was the one that was promised to the fae. It was his fault I was there in the first place, but he never wanted me to stay with them. He wanted me to be his. His way out.”

“But that didn’t work,” Aaron adds, the dread of knowledge settled in his voice.

Neil shakes his head. “It didn’t. My mother made a deal to get me out, away from him, away from them. I’ve been running from them ever since. I couldn’t stop. That was the deal.”

Aaron’s mouth opens and closes. His hand curls into Neil’s shirt when he says, “You did stop. You stopped with me. Here.”

“I know.”

It says a lot. Too much, even. But Neil can barely hear the whispers in his ears and he can let them fade away just by focusing on the sound of Aaron’s breathing, the feel of his heartbeat pounding against Neil’s chest, and the sunlight coming through the window that warms their skin.

Nathaniel would have been beaten for weakness. Neil understands that this, whatever it is, is not a weakness.

“Andrew told me you looked tired, the other day. When you visited.”

“...he what?”

Aaron laughs tiredly and pulls back. He brushes Neil’s hair away from his face like he has done it a thousand times and if Neil doesn’t think too hard, he could believe that. “Well. Not in those exact words.”

“I was tired. But it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

_ No. Yes.  _ Neil remembers again everything that he will have to leave. Everything that he has to deny. He wonders—

— _ what will happen when I’m gone? _

Would everyone worry? If they did, how long would they still worry? A day? A week? A month? When Neil doesn’t return, will they think he left the same way he came? Will Aaron feel an unsteady knot in his chest, say Neil crashed into the forest and maybe try to believe that he went into again?

After a year, will it matter?

_ Will Andrew remember me? _

He will. But he won’t. Neil knows it the same way he knows he can’t escape anymore. Andrew would hate Neil. He would take the leaving as a lie and that would make Neil a liar, and Andrew hates liars. Andrew would see what Neil leaving would do and he wouldn’t accept the way Aaron would probably look for Neil, and he would hate Neil for making Aaron look.

“Neil?” Aaron nudges Neil’s knee. “Are you sure?”

He wants Neil to say no. “Yes. I’m sure.”

_ _

_ 30\. lavandula spica _

Neil is on Andrew’s doorstep. He doesn’t come in; he just stands there, mute, staring into the distance as if he can see something else. Like Neil can see everything and he is waiting for Andrew to say what he already knows Andrew will say.

“You can’t grow roots outside my door,” Andrew says. “I’ll never be able to get out.”

Something flickers across Neil’s lips, the ghost of a laugh or maybe a smile.  _ Maybe a grimace. _ Neil slides his foot forward for a second before he lifts it. His limbs must be made of lead. “I’m not staying long.”

It sounds like a fact and not an explanation. “Then why come by?”

“I wanted to.” It’s a quiet confession. Neil’s eyes lower to the ground, escaping.

Andrew can’t stop himself from reaching out. He tilts Neil’s chin up and waits to see blue eyes. They’re very blue—

—Andrew remembers seeing them for the first time, a flash and gold dust, scared in the forest, wide-eyed child of the woods that couldn’t be real—

—and Neil’s breathing stills. Andrew frowns, irritated. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.” Neil barely gives voice to his words. They puff against Andrew’s lips. “Andrew.”

Not a question. Again. It doesn’t matter; Andrew kisses Neil and waits. Waits for the inexorable bloom, warmth flooding through his veins and Neil’s mouth opening sweetly against Andrew’s. Neil is too soft. He feels like the petals of an orchid, velvety and luxurious. Neil should not be soft. He should be scars and hard edges.

Still. Neil hums softly against Andrew’s lips, a low noise into a whine that Andrew suddenly, intensely wishes he could taste. It almost feels like a solid thing, twining around his tongue like warm honey. Neil’s hands are hovering around Andrew, desperate but not touching. Andrew doesn’t bother to speak; he takes Neil’s wrists and plants the nervous hands on his shoulders.

Andrew doesn’t know if he would have ever accepted someone clinging to him like this. Neil clutches Andrew’s shoulders like the earth is crumbling under their feet and Andrew is the only thing holding him up. It should feel suffocating.

_ So why isn’t it? _

Something nags at Andrew. It takes more concentration than he wants to admit to pull back. When he does, it’s obvious that the nagging is the incessant chatter of the garden. It seems louder than usual.

Neil looks...fuzzy. Andrew almost pulls him back in after one look. Neil blinks distractedly, his tongue darting out over his lips like he’s licking off sugar. “I—um—”

“It’s loud,” Andrew says.  _ Damned flowers. _

Neil blushes. It’s a brilliant rosy color that nearly explodes all at once and Andrew momentarily forgets what he had planned to do or say. He can’t look away.

Neil clears his throat. “Your, um. The irises. Are…”

Andrew frowns a little.  _ What? On fire?  _ It can’t be important—

—but the second Andrew diverts just a little attention, he is bombarded by images of Neil kissing Andrew, mouth open and tongue sliding just there—

—and Andrew immediately shuts the chatter out again. He feels like he needs to clean his ears.

“It’s incredible how much you can say without words,” Andrew mutters. Neil’s blush deepens.

“I don’t...I can stay a little longer,” Neil says.

“What happened to just a little while?”

“I don’t have to. If you don’t want.”

It’s stupid how little time Andrew needs to answer. “Inside,” he says. “Come on.”

Neil follows Andrew back to the house. The windows are all cracked but the doors are shut. Andrew stops at the front door to turn the shop sign around before he walks into the bedroom.

Nothing about this feels unsafe. Neil is not unsafe. Still, Andrew waits for Neil to step inside before he makes eye contact and sets out his rules, simple and clear.

“Only touch waist up. No pushing or pulling. I’ll tell you if you need to do anything.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Andrew has done this but it’s the first in a very long time. He tries not to think about that and Neil, still looking hazy, just nods. “Okay. Yes.”

_ I didn’t even ask,  _ Andrew thinks. It’s too late anyway. He already has Neil’s shirt in his clenched hands, some turbulent energy housed below the surface loosened now that there are walls around them. There is no whispering earth and no stark air against Andrew’s skin. Here in close quarters, the room just smells like home and Neil.

Neil is a good smell. When Andrew pulls him in to kiss him, he thinks about all the things he can pinpoint about Neil. There is the faint scent of flowers, soft and powdery. An undercurrent of salt, the sweetness of water. Andrew has a distinct image of a painting he’s seen, Ophelia in the water, her palms cupped as if holding something precious even in her last moments.

It’s stupid. Stupid and too tragic, so Andrew keeps using his mouth to erase the thoughts. He takes every sigh from Neil and swallows it whole, imagining they will all collect within him and spread the heat of the breath he feels in his mouth.

Neil’s hand wanders over Andrew’s chest. The touch is almost not there and it irks Andrew in a way he did not expect. He wants something, he realizes. Wants to feel.

_ If I can’t then he’s not real. _

That is not true at all but Andrew still feels it hum in his veins so he curls a hand around Neil’s wrist pushes his hand closer. Neil breaks their kiss immediately and Andrew almost makes a noise in protest.

“You said—” Neil starts, out of breath but clear, very clear, and Andrew wants to hit his forehead against something in exasperation.

“I’m telling you to touch me,” Andrew manages. His voice sounds like it jumped out of a moving car and hit gravel. “More. H—”

“Harder?”

Neil’s whisper makes Andrew want to hit the wall. Something, anything, because some low part of him wants to tear Neil’s clothes off and  _ do something _ , but his cognizant mind reminds him not to. It’s too soon. Too fast. He wants this to last.

“Yes,” is all Andrew can say.

It’s better this time. Neil’s touch is there, present, pressing only a little as Neil’s hands slide around Andrew’s sides. They stop in the most ridiculous places, tracing the edge of a muscle or a nonsensical line that maybe only Neil can see.

Not that he’s looking. Andrew knows because he opens his eyes for just a second; he has to know that this is happening and oh does he know when he looks. Andrew looks and gets an eyeful of Neil, brownish-red lashes fanned over his cheeks, freckles like gold, rose watercolor flushing his cheeks. Andrew has to force himself to refocus and ground himself with his hands on Neil’s cheeks, holding them in place just so he won’t spiral out of control.

They are out of breath. When Neil moves away, Andrew slides a hand down Neil’s cheek and toward a scar on his shoulder that is barely visible from the edge of his collar. “You know how to find trouble.”

Neil proves Andrew right in an instant. One moment there is nothing and then there is only Neil’s mouth on Andrew’ neck, lips closed over a pulse that certainly skyrockets the second Andrew’s brain registers what is happening. It feels like his blood is boiling. It’s the most heat he’s ever felt in his body and Andrew isn’t sure what to think anymore. He can’t think.

Even the first tentative slide of Neil’s teeth over Andrew’s neck isn’t bad. It is probably the opposite. It is probably very, very good. Andrew blinks and only hears himself growling a second later. His fingers are digging into Neil’s shoulders.

Neil pulls away for a fraction of a second. “Is—”

“No.” Andrew struggles against the betrayal of saying  _ I like it, I want you to,  _ and the words get knotted in his throat. He barely untangles them enough to say. “Yes. Do—”

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Neil says. He seals the reminder with another kiss, this time just at the corner of Andrew’s neck and shoulder.

Want is a thing Andrew has no time for.  _ Had,  _ a small voice tells him, because there is no way to deny the way he is currently tangled up in Neil, tongue and fingers and everything else impossibly stuck. Andrew doesn’t think he could get away without hurting in the process.

_ And why would I? He won’t hurt me. I won’t let him. _

_ And he won’t. _

There is a fuzzy thought mulling in Andrew’s mind. He feels, wants to do something, but he is having a difficult time being coherent enough to concentrate for more than seconds at a time.

Bee once told Andrew that he needed to let himself want. She had spoken to him in her humming voice and said,  _ Stop thinking about the give and take. It can be a transaction if you want. But you have to feel it, Andrew. _

_ Feel it _ . Another trick. One that Andrew finds himself indulging.

The fae don’t feel the same as humans and anything they feel has to be multiplied, billions of times more than what humans can handle. It is too intense to be anything but pain to a human. Andrew has  _ that  _ feeling pressed into his skin, branded onto his muscles and bones.

Maybe that’s why Neil works, somehow, even though he’s soft. Even though Neil yields every inch. Andrew is burned down to his core and this—

—this doesn’t hurt.

“Andrew,” Neil mumbles on his neck. “Do I stop?”

Andrew closes his eyes. He can’t even imagine this being wrong.  _ How stupid is that?  _ “No.”

Maybe he thinks too much. Maybe Bee is right; maybe she’s wrong. It doesn’t matter. Andrew has Neil here, real, and he does not care about anything else enough to give it his time. He focuses on the body before him instead.

A fuzzy thought at the back of Andrew’s mind sharpens as if called forth by the decision. It sends him glimpses of something that could be and he takes the images apart in pieces until he finds what he needs. Andrew slides a hand down Neil’s chest, further, and stops when he hears a nervous hitch in Neil’s breathing.

Andrew tilts his head against Neil’s. The mouth at his neck is still and it allows him just a moment to think. “Yes or no.”

Andrew can almost feel Neil swallow. “What? How?”

“Just touching,” Andrew says. He almost pulls back, certain that Neil needs space and very strict rules, but Andrew can’t even continue before Neil speaks.

“Yes.”

Andrew pauses and turns to look at Neil’s blue eyes. “I didn’t finish.”

“I trust you.”

_ Fuck. _

There’s a complex shiver that runs through Neil. He trembles against Andrew for a second, some fight or flight response kicking in and probably urging him to run. Run from the confession, because Andrew shouldn’t have this precious thing. This secret. This trust.

But Neil stays there, feet planted, fingers rooted on Andrew’s shoulders. His mouth is half-open, breath still, as if he is about to add to it. Like he’s going to double down just as always.

_ He’s not going to say it. He can’t be about to say it. _

Andrew swallows. He can’t let the words out so he says, “Tell me. Tell me if I need to stop.”

“Okay.” Neil licks his lips, an unconscious glide of nervousness and anticipation. “I trust you.”

He says it again. Again and it’s not a mistake.

_ I am going to do this now,  _ Andrew thinks. He reaches for the band of Neil’s stupid jean shorts—shorter than most because Allison designed them, of course—and slides his fingers under. It’s easy for Andrew to slip his thumb under the button and pop the waistband open, thick denim giving way to persistence. Andrew lets Neil worry at his neck and uses the hazy distraction Neil’s mouth provides to let himself drift a little, conscious of a plan but uncaring of the pacing.

Andrew feels a tiny stab of impatience.  _ I am going to touch now.  _ He presses a hand against Neil through one last layer, cotton and then nothing. Neil’s kiss slackens, a half-moan forming on his lips. Neil’s fingers press into Andrew’s shoulders and then immediately stop, hands shaking with effort.

“Do it,” Andrew says. He sounds drunk to his own ears. Slower. “I’ll stop you if I have to.”

A tiny, frustrated noise leaves Neil’s mouth. It might be an argument. Andrew almost laughs and then realizes that he almost laughed. Andrew presses a little more and has to close his eyes and recenter when he hears Neil moan right at his ear, humid and thick.

Andrew could imagine more. He could and he nearly does but he reigns himself in, eyelids shut against the urge to let everything through. Everything in.

It doesn’t stop Andrew from a thought that sears his mind, white-hot when Neil’s tongue slides against his mouth and lets a sigh tumble into a kiss.

_ I want to feel him. _

Andrew has specific thoughts about how but he pushes them away, just for now. He only has the fortitude to get through this and Neil is already shuddering. Andrew finally dips his hand beneath Neil’s underwear and—

—there is a glorious moment of heat, skin against skin, and Neil is gasping into Andrew’s mouth. He isn’t even quiet now.

“Andrew,” Neil says. It sounds like desperation and shock; it sounds like something heady, cinnamon and rich. “An—”

Andrew thought it was fascination at first. Curiosity. He thought he watched Neil because Neil was a curious creature, indecipherable even though he was shaped just the same as other people. Andrew thought he looked at Neil because it was a basic fact that Neil is beautiful, red and gold and the brightest blue, but—

—that’s not it.  _ That’s not why. _

Maybe this is why. Maybe  _ I trust you _ is why. Maybe it is Neil’s complete lack of self-consciousness despite his messy kisses. It could be the way Neil shivers and keeps his body completely still, not even betraying one needy movement while Andrew does all the work at the pace he wants to.

Neil breathes into Andrew’s mouth and then it is over, a fluttering sigh ghosting across Andrew’s lips while Neil’s grip on his shoulders loosens just a fraction.

Andrew can see color beneath Neil’s skin. Blood risen to the surface, heat and want flooding Neils’ body. It looks good on him, Andrew decides. He just wants to keep looking.

“Andrew?”

It’s probably a question. Andrew can’t answer it yet so he closes his eyes instead; he captures this moment, even though he doesn’t need to, and commits it to memory. Remembers the details of the freckles on Neil’s nose and the way his lips had brushed Andrew’s ear.

“Wait here,” Andrew says.

Neil does. He waits while Andrew leaves and shuts the door of the bathroom behind him, a flurry of images and discordant wants crashing over him while he allows it all to rush through. It is private—for now—and when he is done, he returns to find Neil still distracted where he is leaning against the windowsill.

“You didn’t even clean up.”

Neil blinks. “With what?” he asks slowly. “You were in the bathroom.”

Andrew doesn’t even bother. He knew his mistake when he opened his mouth. “Go in,” he says.

Neil pauses after one step forward. He is biting his lip, so Andrew steps up and kisses it.

_ Not yet,  _ Andrew thinks. _ But maybe...soon. _

_ _

_ 31\. linaria bipartita _

Kevin is at Neil’s front door.

It’s a good thing Neil is home. He thinks this and is immediately amused by the thought. It is a novel concept, not necessarily because Neil is used to having a home, but because Neil was with Andrew.

_ I don’t want to leave you. _

_ I trust you. _

Neil has said plenty of things to Andrew in the past week that he never thought he would say, never thought he would feel. It is disconcerting how easy it is to say them. Maybe it’s the death looming in Neil’s future that makes it so easy to let go.

Still. Neil opens his front door to Kevin, brow bunched in the middle and perfect white teeth worrying at his bottom lip, and all Neil can think is how much he will miss seeing Kevin’s face.

“I need…”

Neil waits until it’s clear that Kevin doesn’t know what to say. “What is it?”

“I...a curse. I think.” Kevin shakes his head. He looks like he’s done an entire differential equation in his head in the past few seconds. “I don’t know. I should—”

“You came to the right place.” Neil turns to grab his jacket from the hook by the door. He has an uneasy feeling about what Kevin is bringing him for.

But he has time. Not much, but enough.

Neil follows Kevin back to his place. The house is spacious, three stories and a beautiful deck right by a clear pool. It looks like it houses more than three people, but Neil supposes they all have big personalities.

And they need space. Jean and Kevin. You need space. Even if you forget the time spent in close quarters with the cloying scent of spices and fae honey, you don’t forget how it feels. The suffocation.

“Where?”

“By the back,” Kevin says testily. He stops suddenly, eyes darting over to Neil. “Wymack. My…I don’t know. He looks after everyone.”

“Right,” Neil says.  _ I remember him, too.  _ A man skirting the edges. One that was only ever there in name, or in the laughter as the fae talked about Wymack being cursed just to see his son again. “What…”

“He’s there.” Kevin jerks his chin toward the forest. “I—it hasn’t reached him. But it might.”

“It won’t.”

_ I’ll make sure of it. _

Kevin nods sharply, like that was all he needed to hear.  _ Does he really believe me? Why?  _ Neil doesn’t get a chance to ask; Kevin beckons and leads the way into the forest. “If you are going to do this, I want you to meet him. Just once.”

“Kevin, I don’t—”

“Just once.”

“Okay.”

_ I don’t have to. I don’t have to know him to die for him. Because really,  _ Neil thinks,  _ I’ll be dying for you. _

For Aaron. For Andrew.

Neil steps over patches of dead leaves and soft dirt. There is a faint trail in the earth, beaten down by dozens of treks just like this. It tells of sleepless nights and exhausted days where Kevin, maybe at the end of his rope, probably came out to see the one person he never knew he had.

_ I wonder if he believed at first.  _ Neil wonders and walks, one foot in front of the other in a steady drumbeat, and waits for Kevin to stop at the edge of a clearing. There is a tree there, further in, with spreading branches and an enormous trunk. It looks old.

“Go ahead,” Kevin says.

“You’re not coming?”

“It’s not my place.”

Strange. Strange, Neil thinks, but he goes anyway. He walks closer to the tree and stands, waiting.

Neil has seen those strange pictures before—the ones on white cards with black ink, always a rabbit or a duck, dual images that warp between one another until you can’t tell what is what anymore. It was always how being in the Court felt. One second it was all concrete, sharp smiles and teeth, pretty eyes—the next second it was warped and melting, ragged mouths and torn hair.

This change is like that. Neil watches the tree trunk warp and bend, a man there and then not. When Neil finally looks long enough to see, he finds a face peering back at him.

**“I’m surprised I didn’t see you sooner.”**

He doesn’t sound like the birds or the roses. Wymack is not the same as everything else Neil shares an alien tongue with. He’s just...human.

Cursed, but human.

“I didn’t have time.”

**“Bullshit.” ** Wymack’s eyes seem to go wavy, like he is looking up from the bottom of a pool.  **“And now what? You’re here because the world is ending?”**

“Something like that,” Neil says quietly. “What about you? Kevin should be gone. Did you say something to make him stay?”

The beat of silence that follows is too obvious. Neil feels his heart lurch in his chest and then something twists, violent, a guttural reminder of a too-near pain.

_ Your father will find you, Neil,  _ Mary whispered. She was dying.  _ Or the fae will. _

“You haven’t told him,” Neil says hollowly.

Wymack’s form shivers.  **“He doesn’t** — **”**

“Shut up.”

He didn’t mean to say it. Neil backpedals, physically, arms already raising to defend a blow that never comes. He almost trips over a root and only thinks to sidestep it because Wymack could probably move it and catch at Neil’s ankle.

**“Hey.” ** Wymack’s voice floats back into reality; Neil blinks.  **“I’m not going to hurt you, kid. Jesus.”**

“You need to tell him.” Neil swallows past everything; memories, fears, the smell of fae lingering at the edges of the clearing. “You need to tell him now.”

**“Listen** — **”**

“There’s no time,” Neil says softly. He closes his eyes. “You know they’re coming. Tell him.”

Neil doesn’t wait for an answer. He walks back to Kevin and swallows his heart. It feels like it’s in his throat. “Go. He wants to talk to you. I’ll be back later, for the curse.”

_ You won’t remember. You’ll be thinking of other things. _

It’s a lie Neil can afford. He leaves Kevin and can’t fight the urge to look over his shoulder just once as he leaves, the back of Kevin’s dark head clearly visible as he ducks under a branch. Neil thinks about the moles on Kevin’s skin— _ constellations,  _ Neil had called them when they first met—and wonders if he will forget where they were.

_ Will I forget when I die? Or can I take them with me? _

It’s too late to wonder now.

The smell of fae and curses is faint but clear. It is like dead wood and rot, infected life decaying but not gone. Neil wishes he could replace it with Andrew, sandalwood and smoke in crisp clarity. He wishes he could go to Andrew, just see him, even if they don’t touch. Even if Neil is never able to touch Andrew again—

—he wishes he didn’t have to go into the forest.

* * *

_ to my friends _

It feels strange to write that. I’m sure you know why.

Last time I said I didn’t really understand friendship, Dan looked me in the eye and said ‘Yeah, you do.’ Do you remember that? I think maybe you were a little mad. Not at me, but at the idea. The idea of me being alone, maybe. I loved you for that.

I have never been made to feel out of place. I did feel out of place, but that’s not because of you. It’s because of me and all the voices in me.

As far as I’m concerned, they can go fuck themselves.

Here’s another thing I never felt: having a home built around me while I stood there, unsure of what was happening and certain that it wouldn’t be real. That it couldn’t last.

An actual home. You didn’t have to build me a home.

I hope you know how much I loved the table, Matt. I found all the secrets you hid in it, too. The little carvings of the bluebird I sent to you the first time I sent a letter, the deer I found and called you about at three in the morning. Everything else.

I think you know I never felt entirely comfortable around you, Renee. That’s not your fault.

None of you are at fault.

That’s really what I needed to write this for. I needed you all to know not to blame yourselves. You will, probably, despite whatever I try to say. You’re good people. But this was something I knew I would have to do even before I came here. It has followed me my entire life.

I’m glad I met you all. You made the last months—the last year—worth it. Worth the running and worth the pain. I wouldn’t change it, except to know you sooner. To have more time.

I wish I could have stayed.

Soon, whatever magic gives me the words to speak to the world will probably escape. I hope some of it comes back to you. If you ever find a bird bringing you flowers or the vines on your window parting to let you open them, I’d like to think that’s me.

I’ll be looking after you. Thank you for looking after me.

* * *

_ to andrew _

We didn’t have enough time, did we?

I know you’re going to hate this, so I won’t write much. Just that I meant everything and I never lied to you. Never.

If we had more time, I would tell you everything. Carefully. I’d explain and I’d let you say what I know you’d say. I’d let you tell me I’m stupid and I would let you be angry. I would let you go, if that was what you wanted.

I guess we’ll never know.

I think, when it ends, you will be one of the last things I think about.

I’m sorry. I never wanted to do this to you. Even if I’m not important to you. You don’t deserve this. But maybe you’ll be able to...not forget. But not think about me.

I hope your garden grows. I’m sorry I won’t be around to see it.

* * *

_ to aaron _

I don’t want to write this. There’s no way to put everything I want to and everything I should in here. I couldn’t even fit it in a book. Words on paper, words from my mouth or in the air—they’re not enough. Nothing is enough.

You found me. You didn’t mean to and I know that but you did. You found me and you took me, even though you knew how dangerous that was. You gave me a place. You were the first person to give me a place.

I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I don’t know what it was that made you stop and offer me a bed, work, food, everything. Whatever it was, it was better than I am. It wasn’t real.

What’s real is how much I loved you. I was ready to do whatever I needed to, whether it was help brew your potions or bring you soup when you got sick. I wanted to be there every day, as often as possible, and I wanted to watch you grow. I wanted to be with you when you found something to make you smile.

I told you I was at the Court. I always expected Tetsuji to come after me. He doesn’t like his perfect dolls being taken away from him. I just had this thought, just for a second, that I might have hidden for good.

I’m going to protect you. You did that for me and I always knew I would do it for you. I’m going to protect you, Aaron, and I am going to make sure that neither Tetsuji nor any of his Court ever touch your or the people you love.

Thank you for the sandwiches. For the bed, the potions, the hugs. I didn’t know I wanted some things until you gave them to me. I think that’s what love is.

I love you. I’ll see you one day, maybe. Somewhere we can build a new home. Maybe this time, we’ll both be free of our curses.

Until then.

* * *

_ 35\. cypress _

Neil gives them a day. He passes the letters on to doves that inquire, concerned, about the way Neil’s paper smells like the salt of tears. Neil doesn’t answer.

One day is enough for Neil to sleep. To wake up, gather himself, and walk into the forest. Neil doesn’t take anything with him. He knows better. He knows he is not coming out.

It’s the same as before. The first few miles are just the same as always, dry branches and dry leaves underfoot. Nothing is out of place.

Deeper into the forest, Neil can hear the fae’s voices. He can hear the small ones giggling. They are probably distantly aware of him. Neil does not strike their radar. The small court do not concern themselves with humans and they know better than to touch something that belongs to the King.

The sickness begins to take hold once Neil steps further into the forest. It starts small, a wheeze in his breathing and a thudding in his pulse.

Neil coughs. His hand flies to his mouth, impulsive. When he pulls it back down, there’s blood.

_ It’s starting. _

Neil continues his trek. Every step seems heavier; his body is leaden and he is moving through syrup. The dappled light that breaks through the canopy above him seems to float in golden orbs that dance across his vision. Neil’s tongue feels thick and fuzzy. He can barely unstick it from the roof of his mouth.

**“You have made us wait.”**

Slowly, Neil lifts his chin. It seems to take years and yet—

—he looks up, and Tetsuji is there.

The half-fae wears black cloth, worn and tattered. It looks moth-eaten and ancient. At one time, it might have been a luxurious tunic. Now, cloudy glass beads dangle from yellowing threads. Ripped cloth catches on an invisible wind, curling insidiously like snakes.

Tetsuji’s face is monstrous. It is nearly white in its paleness, yet there is a sickly hue to the skin. Every edge—cheekbones, chin, nose—is too sharp. Too defined. Tetsuji is the product of a middling attempt to fuse human and fae. His eyes are wide and black and his mouth is an uneven gash on his face. Atop his head, there is a crown of bone and feather.

Neil hasn’t spoken. Tetsuji’s face twists into something terrifying, anger contorting the already grotesque features.  **“You speak when I command. You move when I command. You are mine to command. Nathaniel.”**

_ Nathaniel. Property. Theirs. _

“No,” Neil says. He says it consciously and he says it loudly.

Tetsuji snarls. He gestures widely and something snaps; Neil grits his teeth against a cry of pain when he is jolted sideways. His shoulder burns; he might be bleeding.

**“You are ours,” ** Tetsuji says.  **“Welcome home, Nathaniel.”**


	4. The Skies

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184522567@N07/48757392247/in/album-72157710919215511/)

**Part 4**

**the skies**

_ 36\. tagetes erecta _

Aaron waits. Normally, Neil would answer by now. He doesn’t.

_ Fine. _

The path to Andrew’s house almost leads directly to Neil’s back door. Funny how that works out. Aaron makes a mental note to talk to Neil about...that. Andrew and Neil.

He never would have expected it. Not from Andrew and certainly not from Neil.

Not that it matters. Andrew handles himself. Aaron will make sure Neil can, too.

The front door is closed when Aaron reaches Andrew’s house. Andrew is in the garden, bent over a patch of spinach that Kevin probably insisted he grow. Aaron walks up carefully, taking the cleanest path over the stones.

“He’s not here?”

Andrew stops. He starts again almost as quickly but Aaron doesn’t miss the obvious stutter. “Who?”

“You know.” Aaron shakes his head and concedes this point, at least for now. “Neil.”

Andrew turns to look up over his shoulder. He squints; whether it’s the sun or suspicion is unclear. “Why would he be here.”

Aaron narrows his eyes.  _ Does he think I’m stupid? Or does he just want me to say it? _ “I am not asking why. I just wanted to know if he is.”

“Have you checked with Kevin?”

“No. But I have a delivery for Kevin and he would have come by.” Aaron shakes his head. “Andrew, I don’t give a shit if you’re hiding him in your pocket; just tell me if he’s here.”

“Pocket?” Andrew straightens.

_ Oh, for the love of God. _ “Forget it,” Aaron says. “Whatever.”

Aaron only gets two steps away before Andrew is at his side, garden tools abandoned. Aaron glares at him and says, “I don’t need a chaperone. You don’t need to come.”

“You are worried.”

Not a question. Aaron curls his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  _ I am worried. _ There was just something about the emptiness of Neil’s house. The silence left behind.

It felt final, somehow. And all Aaron can think about is Neil, one hand curled in Aaron’s shirt, saying  _ I was at the Court. _

Something is off before Aaron even sets foot on Kevin’s land. He can feel it in the air—a general unrest, crackling and snapping. Even Andrew tenses beside Aaron, the bands on his arms rippling with tension. There is something wrong here and they can both feel it.

Jeremy is on the front porch. He straightens when he sees them and starts down the front steps, hands in his pockets. “It’s not a good time.”

“We need to talk,” Andrew says. He doesn’t move to walk past Jeremy yet but Aaron knows he is very close.

“What’s going on?” Aaron asks. He glances past Jeremy; Kevin and Jean are nowhere to be seen. _Are they hiding? Is Neil hiding?_ _Why?_

Jeremy shakes his head. “It’s not up to me to tell you. Just—”

“Leave it.” Jean appears on the porch, quietly closing the front door behind him.

Andrew is not amused. He takes a step closer, despite Jeremy shadowing him as if to stop him. “Explain.”

Jean’s gaze wanders toward the forest. Aaron can feel Andrew bristling at his side. He is probably one bad answer away from doing something stupid, so Aaron decides to say something.

It’s just difficult to say something when he’s not sure who knows about Neil.  _ If Andrew doesn’t, we’re all dead.  _ “Jean, please. I just—”

“Wymack is Kevin’s father.”

Aaron can’t seem to close his mouth all the way. He fishes for something, anything, to say. All he comes up with is a weak, “What?”

“His father,” Jean repeats. He sounds angry. “That’s his father.”

“Being a nosy bastard runs in the family,” Andrew mutters darkly. “That’s not what we came here for.”

Jeremy fixes Andrew with a patient stare. Beneath it all, Aaron can see just a tiny bit of irritation leaking out.  _ Figures he’d get irritated for Kevin.  _ “Andrew. This is important. Wymack is—”

“What? Cursed? I am sure no one knows what that is like.”

Andrew isn’t talking about himself. That is why, at that very moment, Aaron knows Andrew doesn’t know.  _ He doesn’t know about Neil.  _ Andrew is annoyed and angry but only because— _ what? He’s mad that he thinks Neil is Cursed? He’s mad that it’s probably true? _

_ Or is Andrew just angry that he can’t fix it? _

“This isn’t the time,” Jeremy says quietly. “Whatever you need—”

“Neil is gone,” Andrew says. He raises his voice just a little and Aaron knows he is trying to get Kevin’s attention, if Kevin can even hear him. “He isn’t here to be a shoulder to cry on, is he?”

“Gone?” Jeremy looks back at Jean. There is hesitation on his lips.

_ What do they know?  _ It hits Aaron in a blinding flash of white-hot panic. “What do you know? Jeremy, what do you know?”

Andrew isn’t waiting anymore. He pushes past Jean and throws the front door open. Aaron follows behind as quickly as he can. The house seems empty inside but a side door near the back is open; Aaron has to jog to keep up with Andrew, who is already halfway toward the greenhouse near the back.

Kevin is in the greenhouse. He kneels by a plant, something distant in the way he stares at a half-filled pot and a bag of soil at his elbow. He’s not entirely there.

“Neil is gone.” Andrew doesn’t waste time. He stands completely still before Kevin but it feels like he’s moving frenzied around the greenhouse.

Kevin blinks. He slowly looks up at Andrew, lips parted, and shakes his head uselessly.

Aaron can see it. He can see memory on Kevin’s face and wonders with black amusement if it was Wymack that told Kevin about the Court, too.  _ Or did Neil, before he left? _ It doesn’t matter. All that matters is now two people know the truth and the second Andrew looks at Aaron, he’ll know too.

Andrew turns. Aaron thinks he can hear the moisture condensing in the air. The second Andrew’s eyes are on him, it’s over.

“What did he do?” Andrew asks. He’s too quiet. “What did he do, Aaron?  _ What did he do.” _

Andrew is close. Aaron knows Andrew won’t touch Aaron or anyone else; he’s not going to be violent with the only people he remotely cares about. But this is bad. This is Neil.

_ I think maybe he loves him. _

It’s like looking into a mirror. Aaron opens his mouth; it’s useless, he doesn’t have words. “I...I don’t know. I don’t know. He just...he’s gone.”

Gone. Gone for real. There is a rock forming in Aaron’s throat. He can’t think about it—

—can’t think about Neil with a peanut butter sandwich, crouched on top of Aaron’s closet. Neil sitting on Aaron’s desk, a potion bottle in hand while he hums some tuneless song. Aaron can’t think about Neil curled up at his side while movie credits roll.

Aaron can’t think about one of the only people he has ever loved, cold and dead or bound and tortured while laughing fae with glitter-glass voices force Neil to forget every moment of warmth he ever had.

“Stop crying. Stop,” Andrew demands. His hand is on Aaron’s chin, a little rough and distracted. “Look at me. We need to find him. Now.”

Kevin gets to his feet around the same time Aaron registers that there are tears on his cheeks. “There’s only one place he could be and we can’t—”

“Maybe you can’t,” Andrew says shortly. “I do not have the luxury.”

“Don’t,” Aaron says. “He—”

Andrew raises a finger and moves it slowly between Aaron and Kevin. “I do not need either of you, or your permission. Help or don’t.”

Andrew leaves. It’s the closest to storming out that Aaron has ever seen him. Kevin glances at Aaron and immediately follows Andrew out. “Wait. Andrew, you can’t—”

Jean and Jeremy are outside. Both of them lurch forward when Andrew presses a hand onto Kevin’s chest. There is no threat in it besides a warning— _ stay back _ —but Aaron knows Jean and Jeremy are just as aggravated as Andrew. No one is ready to handle this right now.

None of them are prepared for the very real possibility that they could be looking for nothing. Or a body.

Aaron can hear something.

It sounds like music at first and Aaron almost ducks for cover.  _ Fae,  _ he thinks, and then he registers the song. It’s the same tuneless one Neil used to hum when they worked late nights. The immediate jolt of recognition that hits Aaron almost sends him to his knees.  _ Neil. _

There are birds. They sing the song as they descend and they sound…

... _ sad.  _ Mourning doves. The birds are carrying things, white squares, and Aaron thinks he is still crying when he realizes they are letters.

A bird lands on Aaron’s shoulder. On Andrew’s. The letters fall into their hands and Aaron is tearing at his before he can think,  _ I have to save it, what if it’s all I have left? _

Aaron can hear his own breathing heavy in his ears while he reads.

_ I don’t want to write this. _

_ I love you. _

“No. No, no, no…”

_ Who’s saying that? Is it me? _ Aaron looks up when someone makes him. There are hands on his face.  _ Kevin?  _ Kevin’s eyes are brown. A little greenish in the middle. They are not sympathetic or soft, but they are grounding. “Breathe,” he says. “Neil needs us right now. Okay?”

Aaron takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“You’re not alone,” Jeremy says shortly. He is already walking back toward the house, concentrated energy burning in every step he takes. “Jean, call Matt and Dan. We need all the help we can get. I’ll call Renee and Allison.”

“It won’t be easy,” Kevin agrees. “We need to prepare. Aaron, you need to go home and stock up on potions. We don’t know what we’re walking into, but it’s definitely fae.”

“We don’t know,” Andrew echoes darkly. “It seems like we do. Don’t we?”

Maybe it’s the tension crackling on his skin or the tears sticky on his cheeks, but Aaron doesn’t hold back. He snaps out before he can stop himself. “Neil was at the Court.”

The silence that follows is a roar in Aaron’s ears. Or maybe it’s blood. All he knows is the pounding in his heart and the utter emptiness in Andrew’s gaze. Aaron squeezes his eyes shut; he thinks about Neil somehow appearing when he opens them again, conjured the same way he was when Aaron first met him.

It doesn’t work. Andrew silently looks down at his armbands; they are an agitated, rippling mess of foliage. “That’s why. He does speak to…”

“To—I don’t know,” Aaron says, frustrated. “But that wasn’t the fae. That was just why they wanted him. They’ve always been after him, ever since he left. When he stayed here, he took a risk.”

“Not just him.”

“Clearly. So he went.”

Andrew’s next step thuds hard against the ground. Aaron curls his hands into fists and ignores the rage bubbling in his chest. It would be useless to try but he kind of wants to put his fist through a fae’s face. He wants something tangible to threaten with iron and he wants to say  _ give him back or I will send you below where you belong. _

Kevin takes a sharp turn toward his house. “Aaron. Bring whatever iron you can. We’ll meet you here in half an hour.”

“Yeah. I’ll be back.”

Aaron starts to sprint. Every footstep reminds him of a heartbeat against his chest.  _ I’m going to find him,  _ he thinks.  _ I’m going to bring him home. _

_ 37\. lobelia erinus _

Tetsuji watches. He always does. It’s his birds that do the work. Fae covered in raven feathers, their tattered veils catching on their sharp teeth. They have sharp nails and sharper eyes. The fae clutch at Neil’s throat and limbs and pull him until he feels like he is tearing. They laugh in caw-cackles and their breath is cold rot against his skin.

It’s not real. None of it is real. Neil figured it out the first time the trees around him swayed. They were cherry trees. There aren't any cherry trees where Neil lives.

This is Tetsuji. This is his curse. It is just Testuji and his magic, infecting everything. His Court is below, in a mirror world darkened and warped by fae enchantment. Nathaniel was there. He was buried alive and when he emerged, dirt pouring from his mouth, he tore his nails trying to escape and ran. He never stopped running.

At the edge of the clearing, Neil can see a familiar scarred hand rising from the dirt. It is probably the only thing that is real. It is Nathan.

Nathan, who probably found Neil. Nathan, who found Neil for Tetsuji and was killed when he tried to take Neil for himself.

Now, Tetsuji is just playing with Neil. Playing with his food before he goes below and drags Nathaniel back with him. All of this in-between is nothing to Tetsuji. Time is meaningless to him.

It’s Neil that suffers time.

The fae-raven take a break. Tetsuji tilts his head onto his fingers, cocked to the side, and watches Neil with his wide black eyes.  **“Who do you belong to, Nathaniel?”**

“That’s not my name,” Neil says. He gurgles the words past blood in his mouth and spits.

A gesture and then a fae-raven sends a gleeful kick to Neil’s chest. Neil wheezes and presses his eyes shut against the pain. It’s an old reflex, as if seeing means it won’t hurt. It still does.

Neil opens his eyes to see his fingertips are black. The curse is killing him.

_ I wonder what it was.  _ He thinks at one point his life was probably tied to the fae. Maybe Mary broke that enchantment. Neil still doesn’t know what the condition was; all he knows is that he had to run. He was made to run. If Neil stood in one place too long, he would grow roots and those roots would dig deep underground. They would reach the fae.  _ If they touch me I am theirs. _

**“You are hurting yourself,” ** Tetsuji says. It’s a casually cruel observation. He does not care.  **“It would be easier to admit it.”**

“There’s nothing to admit. I do not belong to anyone.”

**“You do. I have your name.” ** Tetsuji waves. A fae-raven bends Neil’s finger back until it feels like it’s going to break and then stops, wigging its own fingers mockingly. Laughing like broken glass.  **“It is more fun this way. For me. But if you become tiresome, I will have to take something you do not want to lose.”**

Neil’s heart races faster.  _ Take.  _ He knows what taking means. He can remember being breathless, hanging onto a car as it skidded in slow motion, a fae leaning in to smile at him.  _ We found you, Nathaniel. We are going to take from you, Nathaniel. _

_ There is nothing you can do, Nathaniel. _

He has too much to lose. Neil has too much to lose and he wants to scream at himself for being so stupid. He wants to go back and find himself; tell himself not to stop. Tell himself not to stop for Aaron’s hugs, or Jeremy’s smiles. Not to stop for Jean’s warm croissants or Kevin’s hands helping Neil pot a plant. Neil wants to tell himself not to stop for Allison and Renee’s garden parties or Matt and Dan’s barbecues—

—not to stop for Andrew’s kisses. For his hands. His breath.

Neil squeezes his eyes shut.

**“Nathaniel. It is disgusting how much you fear him.”**

He can’t help it. Neil looks. 

It’s not Tetsuji anymore. The man on the twisted wood throne is different—looks just like Neil, the same face but cold and dead. There are old scars on the man’s face, pale white and ragged. His eyes are flinty and they pin Neil to the ground where he lays.

Nathaniel’s father tilts his head. Half of his jaw is exposed, teeth rattling and bone held in place with knotted wires. The barbed rope connects chin to cheek and curls around a traumatized eye.  **“I am the Butcher. You should fear me.”**

A scream bubbles in Nathaniel’s throat. He chokes it down but someone’s clawed hand is at his throat, forcing his chin up to let out a garbled cry.  _ Lola. _ He can smell her rose-rot perfume.

**“I should have killed you before they touched you,” ** Nathan says. He stands slowly, white, bloodstained rags hanging from his body. There is bone protruding from Nathan’s sleeve.  **“I should have killed you when I saw your mark.”**

_ It’s not true. It’s not true,  _ Neil thinks.  _ I haven’t seen him. This isn’t true. _

Neil knows that this is not real. Nathan is dead. Nathaniel belonged to the Moriyama; if Nathan came too close, Tetsuji would not have tolerated it. Fae are fickle but they did not suffer anyone to take what is theirs. Possessiveness is their weakness, if you could call it that. Nothing about a fae is weak. Nothing.

The not-real Lola laughs. She drags her nails against Neil’s skin until he bleeds and this is how he knows she is fake. Lola would use a knife, the Wesninski way. But fae can’t touch iron.

They can touch him, though.

Neil breathes in. He imagines—

—home. Sandwiches, movies, new shirts as soft as bedsheets. A frustrated wrinkle on a brow and warm lips against his. Aaron lining up potion bottles on Neil’s windowsills and Andrew watering a tiny succulent. Kevin with his eyes half-closed as he lounges on Neil’s sofa, listening to Neil read in another language. Friends, friends everywhere, people and laughter and the smell of food on the weekend.

**“Look at me when I hurt you, Nathaniel.”**

Neil breathes slowly. His chest aches and his body is on fire but he looks up, a hand forcing him. He finds Tetsuji again like a mirage, wavering in reality, edges fuzzy but image sharp. “My name is Neil.”

Tetsuji is still. He is too still and Neil realizes a beat too late that he is right; he is so frustratingly right. He is not Nathaniel and he hasn’t been for a long time. Not really.

_ It’s not my name. He can’t do anything without my name. _

Any triumph is short-lived. Neil only has himself and a fae now. A furious, cold, calculated fae. Tetsuji uncurls his hands from his throne and slinks forward like a predator. He kneels an inch away; this close, Neil can smell the fragrance of death on the fae.

**“You should not have done this thing, Nathaniel. I will have to kill you.”**

He wants Neil to surrender. Tetsuji wants begging and pleas. He wants to laugh and deny as long as he can, until Neil is almost dead. Tetsuji wants a show and he wants to take Nathaniel back to his palace where he can play with him until Neil’s time runs out and Tetsuji can curse him into everlasting life.

Neil laughs. Something wet and warm rises in his throat. “There is no Nathaniel here. You can’t control me.”

_ 38\. arbutus unedo _

Aaron does not go home.

Fighting fae is impossible. People have tried and died, one or two or two hundred. Numbers don’t mean anything. Not even if every number is a witch. Aaron knows that no matter how many friends go into the forest, they will not come out with Neil.

There is only one way to deal with fae. There is only one way and there is only one person that has not given anything up.

_ Me. _

Kevin gave something up to try to escape the Court, even if he didn’t remember. Jean gave something up for light and hope. Andrew gave something up for protection. Wymack gave something up for his son. Everyone has lost and everyone has given.

Except Aaron. He is gifted but that gift means nothing; it has never meant anything.  _ Safe from fae? They aren’t the only monsters in the world. Sometimes they’re not even the worst. _

This is something only Aaron can do. He has a gift and he knows how to use it, now. He knows the reason he has it. He knows who he is meant to use it for.

_ I should have done this sooner. _ He should have done it before, when Neil was still hiding. When he fell asleep on Aaron’s lap. When he whispered secrets about being at the Court and finding leaves that fell from the wrong direction, through holes in the ground that smelled like fresh air and life.

Aaron should have protected Neil when he told the truth. When he confided in Aaron, shaky and uncertain, everything about his blue eyes saying he expected to be turned away.

It’s easy for Aaron to find where he needs to go. He walks into the forest and looks for the path that seems to shrink away from him, repelled by an invisible shield. Aaron takes the road in and doesn’t look back. He thinks about Neil walking alone, letters left behind and heart pounding in his chest.  _ He was scared.  _ Aaron can feel it like an afterimage, anxiety and regret running over his skin in static flashes.

All those confessions and Neil never admitted he stayed in one place for the people he loved. Even though he knew it would kill him, even though he was signing away his life for a few precious months, Neil stayed.

_ I can’t leave him. He stayed. So will I. Even if it means watching him die. _

Aaron can hear when the forest begins to change. It is a distant ringing in his ears like the silence after an explosion. The air seems to shake with the aftershock of some huge event. Aaron has never been able to feel fae magic the way everyone else can but he feels something now; he is repelled, like twin poles of a magnet being forced together even as they slip apart.

He can’t be far.

The first thing Aaron hears is screaming. He knows it’s Neil’s voice when he hears it and he knows he will never be able to forget the sound. Aaron is walking one moment and then he is running, his heart racing as he tries to get closer to the sound of a nightmare. Part of him wants to cover his ears. The other part can’t stop listening and hoping that Neil can still be saved.

Aaron hits something like a barrier. The air before him warps and he pushes against it. He grits his teeth and strains, a frustrated cry exploding forth while he slams his hands against nothing. “Let me in!” He screams and hits the air, squeezing his eyes shut while Neil’s screams echo in the air. “Let me in! Let me in, I want to see! Please!”

Aaron becomes aware of something standing nearby. He turns to look and blinks past the watery tears in his eyes, his heart still thumping erratically.

There is a fae at the edge of the barrier. It is pale and silent, oddly unlike the others Aaron has heard described. The fae is dressed in black, though there is a reddish hue around its black eyes. The creature silently looks toward the barrier. Beyond it, the forest looks completely normal. Aaron knows it’s an illusion.

“Let me in,” Aaron whispers. “Please. I—”

“I cannot go in myself,” the fae says. It lowers its eyes for a moment. Its skin looks strangely textured, like sandstone with quartz speckled among the rock. “If you go, I cannot help you.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you go, you may die.”

“I don’t care,” Aaron repeats, the words strangled. “I have to. Please.”

The fae closes its eyes. When they open, they are swirling with a bluish-purple color. “He is dangerous. I know what it is you face.”

There is an almost-imperceptible dripping noise. Aaron holds his breath and slowly looks down.  _ It’s...bleeding?  _ There is a sticky liquid slowly oozing from some kind of wound in the fae’s side. Its perfect black clothing is split as if sliced with something bladed but blunt. There is bruising on the fae’s flawless pale skin.

“Did you try to kill it?” Aaron asks quietly.  _ Is this what it will do to me? Is this how I will die? _

The fae reaches out. Aaron has to force himself to stand still. “Yes. But someone got in the way.”

Aaron holds his breath when the fae’s hand rests on his chest. Its other hand, sticky with blood or whatever it is, presses to the barrier. “Go,” the fae says quietly. “You don’t have much time left.”

Aaron takes a sharp breath in. He turns quickly and walks into the darkness, his mind clear of any thoughts except  _ I have to find him. _

_ I have to bring him home. _

When Aaron steps through, the world changes. He can feel something pulling at him like static electricity against skin. A charge ripples over his body and tugs insistently. He wants to tear the invisible hands away and scrub himself until he can’t feel their ghost anymore.

The screaming is louder. Aaron blindly runs toward it; he doesn’t need to think or plan. Thinking and planning is useless, means nothing, does nothing. The fae are beyond humans. All Aaron has to save Neil is himself.

The path beneath Aaron’s feet feels sticky. He can see the trees around him weeping sap, ragged lashes torn into the bark. Something came through this place furious. Something destroyed everything around it and let the rot sink in, festering and darkening with ill intent. Aaron’s hands shake when he curls them around the potions at his belt. He continues into the woods.

Finally, there is a light. It’s more yellow than orange, whatever warmth that should be there absent. It is not sunlight anymore. It is a sickly filter of fae magic and curse. Aaron’s chest heaves as he slows, approaching the clearing in the distance. He can see it through the gaps in the trees. He can feel it on his skin.

There is a clearing, leaves scattered away as if even they do not want any part in what is happening. The earth is dry and dead. There is a twisted throne at the edge of the circle; it is vacant. There are three figures on the ground. One is clothed in black tatters, a miasma of shadow following it as it paces around the clearing. Another figure is thin and twisted, long hair wild and teeth sharp as it laughs. 

Neil. Neil is on the ground, curled on his side, fingers digging into the earth as if he can save himself by being absorbed. Aaron opens his mouth to cry out and then slaps a hand over it, shuddering.

Something snaps. Aaron looks up and sees fae, their faces flat and sharp at the edges, their black eyes trained on the scene below them. They curl around the trees they cling to and whisper in a language Aaron can’t understand. One of the fae looks down at him. It does not screech or attack. It just looks and then looks back to Neil, clawed fingers scratching deeper into the bark of the tree it is holding on to.

_ They know.  _ Aaron breathes slowly and counts each inhale and exhale. He can almost hear Wymack right at his ear.  _ They aren’t like us. They have no loyalty to anything but themselves. There is no family for them. No bonds. _

_ A faerie exists for itself. _

Aaron’s heart thunders in his chest. He reaches into his pocket and curls his hand around the dagger there. It feels as heavy as a gold brick. Everything seems slower.  _ This is my gift. This is my curse. _

There’s nothing else he can do.

Aaron walks into the clearing. He can hear Neil’s ragged breathing and he wants nothing more than to run to him. Instead, Aaron faces the black-clad figure and says, “I want to make a deal.”

The figure turns. This close, Aaron can see what looks like an infection spreading beneath the skin. There are spidery black veins on the fae’s face, the darkness pulsing through them. This is what binding looks like; magic binding, a curse-like pact used to control powerful creatures. It is more than terrifying to imagine that there is something more powerful than this fae that bound it. It is even more terrifying to think that the fae before Aaron is not using its full power.

**“You have nothing to give and nothing I may take.”**

“That’s a lie.” Aaron curls his hand tighter around his blade. If he slid his hand further down, he would feel the edge bite his palm. “I will give my safety for his.”

The fae steps away from Neil. The ground behind it crackles and sizzles as if burned, blackened in the creature’s wake.  **“What will you promise? What will you ask?”**

It sounds like a contract. Aaron knows it’s far more dangerous.

“I will give my safety for this torture to cease.”

It has to be right. There are so many ways this could go wrong, so many ways the fae could interpret the deal—but Aaron doesn’t care. All he wants is for this to end. He just needs Neil safe, even if for a minute, so the others have time to arrive and finish the job. Even if they can’t win, all they need is Neil. He is the only thing that matters.

**“As you have said, so it shall be.”**

The fae turns. Aaron’s heart thumps once, painful, and he has the feverish hope that maybe the fae will leave. Maybe it was only temporarily amused; maybe Neil has exhausted his novelty. Maybe the fae is tired of chasing Neil.

He is wrong. He is very, very wrong.

The fae reaches out to its partner, a twisted lower fae that looks like a woman with charred skin. She has a wicked, grinning mouth and one hand on Neil’s neck. The dark fae casually reaches out, one hand on the woman-fae’s wrist, and says,  **“You have exhausted your purpose, Lola.”**

_ Lola.  _ The name is distantly familiar but it doesn’t matter; Lola’s wrist suddenly cracks and then she screams, rapidly backing away from Neil. Her hand is gone, abandoned on the ground. The dark fae slowly follows her.

_ This is not going to go the way I wanted it to.  _ Aaron knows that he is next. He knows, so he runs to Neil. Neil is half-conscious, pushing himself upright. His blue eyes are wild. 

“Aaron.” Neil’s words are gurgled; there’s blood on his lips. “Aaron, you have—have to go, you—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Aaron whispers. “I came for you. I’m not leaving.”

“You have to go,” Neil repeats. There are frustrated tears in his eyes; he pants through whatever pain he’s in and struggles to stand. “Please. Please go, Aaron—”

“No.”  _ Not even if it kills me. _

Behind them, the fae are still ignorant. Aaron pulls Neil toward the edge of the clearing while he listens to the sound of breaking bones. The snaps seem to echo in his ears.

“Why?!” Lola screams. “I was promised—”

Aaron turns despite himself. He turns to look, still trying to drag Neil. The dark fae’s lip curls into a hideous sneer as it looks down at Lola.  **“You are beneath me. Die.”**

It is almost funny how immediate the effect is. The word leaves the dark fae’s mouth and then Lola falls backward, eyes wide with rage and shock. She doesn’t move when she hits the ground. Aaron stops.

Aaron shifts to stand in front of Neil. His heart pounds its way into his throat and his mind races.  _ The others must be here. Right? They have to be close. _

The dark fae seems unmoved when it looks at Neil and Aaron. There is no trace of worry on its sharp features; no hint that it might be afraid that Neil and Aaron will stumble out of the clearing and into safety. 

Neil bares his teeth. He looks like a nightmare, bloody and bruised, and Aaron has a frightening image of what Neil must have been through, before Aaron found him.

“You will not touch him,” Neil spits. “Leave him. I am the one you want, Tetsuji.”

The fae smiles. It laughs, the sound like crunching paper and burning walls.  **“It is too late. He already gave up his protection.”**

“No—”

**“You,” ** the dark fae says. It is suddenly close and Aaron almost feels dizzy, cross-eyed, unable to move as the creature lingers before him. It smells like charred things and acid and Aaron wants to vomit.  **“Will die.”**

Aaron stops breathing, and the world goes black.

_ 39\. heliotropium arborescens _

Andrew knows very quickly that Aaron did not make it home. He can hear it in the grass and the trees. He knows and he wants to punch something. He wants to shake Neil for being a bad influence, for making Aaron even more stubborn and defiant and—

—he might never see them again.

The two people he tried the hardest to keep and Andrew may never see them again.

“We need to go now,” Andrew says.

Kevin turns, brow furrowed. “What? We—”

“Aaron went in.”

Jeremy’s eyes shut. He squeezes them tightly as if he can try to see Aaron in his mind’s eye. Maybe he can. Maybe the light still reaches Aaron. “He’s far. We’d have to hurry, but—”

“He’ll be there before us no matter what,” Matt finishes. His hand curls around the iron rod in his hands.

Dan shakes her head. “Why the hell did he go? If he just waited one more minute—”

“Neil might be dead,” Jean says quietly. The others fall silent just as quickly as they spoke. “He knows that. He knows Neil was at the Court. He didn’t want to take the chance.”

_ He loves him,  _ no one says. Andrew hears it anyway.  _ What about you? _

Stupid. Andrew doesn’t have to prove himself. He doesn’t need to explain. He doesn’t have to say that no one has done what Neil did to him; Andrew doesn’t have to tell the others that something moves in him when he’s with Neil. That it feels like he has blood in his veins and a working heart in his chest. Andrew doesn’t have to say that he feels warm and doesn’t mind it when he is with Neil. He doesn’t have to say that he started to clear a room in his house because he wanted to make Neil a desk there, just for if he needed it, if he wanted it.

Andrew doesn’t have to say  _ I love him, too. _

_ I’m afraid I won’t ever see him again, too. _

_ I don’t want to take chances, either. _

“Then we go,” Kevin says shortly. “Everyone. Now. It’s going to take all of us to break the barrier and we don’t know what else might be waiting for us.”

Andrew is already walking into the forest. He hears the others follow behind him but he doesn’t register if they speak or try to slow him down. Andrew walks and each step brings him closer to Neil.

“He didn’t tell anyone,” Renee says quietly. She is there suddenly, or maybe Andrew didn’t notice. He doesn’t want to think about not noticing. He has to concentrate—has to focus, because Neil is somewhere. He’s waiting.

Andrew almost doesn’t answer. Maybe it’s the forest that unsticks his tongue, with its whispers in his ears. “He told Aaron.”

Renee nods. “I wonder why.”

“He was stupid.”  _ He should have told me. _

“He didn’t tell you for a reason,” Renee says. As if she can hear his thoughts.

_ I don’t want to talk about it.  _ “Sure.”

Andrew can feel Renee’s hesitation in the air. “Don’t,” he says. “I am not fragile.”

“You’re not.” Renee glances down at her feet before she says, “He probably didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to hate him. And he felt guilty.”

“Hate?” Andrew’s fists curl. He can feel his bands rippling with agitation. “For what?”

“Being like them. Being with you.” Renee looks sad. She glances toward Jean and Andrew wants to say  _ they’re not the same. _

But they are. In a way.

“He is not a fae,” Andrew says shortly. “Neither am I.”

“No,” Renee agrees. “But he cares. He cares so much about us. About you. He probably never meant to stay. He must have felt terrible when he did.”

_ When he loved you. _

Andrew can feel his bands start to prick at his skin. Little cactus needles sting at Andrew’s arms but they don’t seem to bring him back to the present. He breathes in and out and focuses; the needles withdraw.

“If all it did was make him feel guilty, then what was the point?”

Renee doesn’t say anything. Maybe she doesn’t have an answer. Andrew doesn’t care.

Fae. Fae and their magic and curses. The old scars beneath Andrew’s bands seem to ache. He doesn’t touch them anymore; doesn’t think about adding more. They’re still there, though. Still lingering. Those are curses he gave himself, when he thought they could be charms.

_ How many of Neil’s scars are curses? How many are from him? _

Andrew barely knows anything about Neil. He knows what he can see and what he can touch. Somehow it seems laughable, now. Not enough. Andrew wants to slap himself; he wants to go back in time and say _don’t forget that he is not special._ _He doesn’t get to be here without questions._

It was all so stupid. All stupid and useless, Andrew giving in to what he wanted and Neil pretending it was going to last.

A little voice whispers in Andrew’s ear.  _ Since when did you want it to last? _

“Here,” Kevin says suddenly. He rushes toward a nearby tree. There are jagged marks in it and all the others in the area. The line of destruction extends far into the distance. “It’s a barrier. We’re here.”

Jean lifts his hands. The crystal at his neck glints with inner light, glowing softly against his skin. “There’s a weak spot,” he murmurs. His eyes seem more blue than gray, magic diffused in their depths. “Someone was here before us.”

“Aaron?” Matt asks.

“No. Someone stronger,” Jean says distantly. His brow is furrowed. “I can’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew interrupts. “Just get us in.”

Renee reaches out as if to press her hand against Andrew’s arm but stops short. It’s a good decision. Instead, she joins Jean at the barrier and raises her own hands. The tiny crystals on the rings she wears blink with multicolored light.

With two crystal witches, the barrier erodes quickly. Andrew can feel it working; everyone can. Where before there was static, he can feel darkness seeping through. It is like a bloodstained bandage after breaking stitches. The fae magic behind the barrier leaks through, the smell of something burning and spoiled seeping out.

“That’s him,” Kevin whispers. He looks pale. “That’s Tetsuji.”

“Dark fae,” Jean agrees. There is distance in his eyes. He is shuttered, protecting himself from whatever nightmare it is he does not want to remember. “He’s dying.”

“Good for us,” Andrew says. He steps forward.

The second he does, Andrew can hear a scream of pain. It’s not Neil. It sounds like a woman, but twisted and wrong. Andrew starts to run.

They don’t get far before something stops them. A lower fae appears, laughing in clicks and rattles. Andrew pauses long enough to look up and see hundreds above them. A flash of white-hot irritation burns through him.  _ I don’t have time for this. _

Dan stops in her tracks. “Keep going,” she says shortly. “Matt and I will get to work.”

Andrew never stopped. He keeps walking, the sounds of horror echoing from deeper in the forest. The only thing that gives him anything resembling hope is the absence of Neil’s voice. It’s a small comfort when the same thing could mean Neil is already—

— _ don’t. _

The sounds of Matt and Dan fighting barely fade when Andrew suddenly has trouble lifting his feet. He looks down to see the ground infected, a blackened curse spreading through it. A dark miasma of magic emanates from the earth, slowing everything it comes into contact with.

“This is dangerous,” Jeremy says. He takes one step back and watches the curse cling to his shoes and legs like syrup, slowly dripping away and shrinking when he holds his crystals near it. “If we keep going—”

“We have to keep going,” Kevin says.

“It’s a good thing you’re all wearing what I made for you,” Allison says tightly. “And it’s a good thing I’m paranoid.”

Allison gestures for them to come closer and unloops a rope from her wrist. It’s thin, a hundred strands of thread carefully braided together into a colored loop. She skillfully twists her fingers around the braid until it webs across her hands in a complicated sigil. The threads shimmer with magic and Andrew feels the echoes in his clothes; everything he is wearing seems to shift, steeling itself into something stiffer and armor-like.

“That should give us some time,” Allison says. The glow dissipates from her braid and she loops it around her wrist again, sweat beading on her forehead. “Against something this strong, I can’t guarantee it’ll hold for more than an hour. We have to be quick.”

“Wasn’t planning on staying for dinner,” Nicky says. The humor in his voice is strained. “Let’s go.”

They step into the darkness.

Andrew can feel the trap waiting for them. The forest warns him, muffled by the curse infecting it. Andrew opens his mouth to say something and then they are swarmed, fae descending from the darkness. They are small, sharp creatures with feathers and tattered cobwebs wrapped around their limbs. They fight mindlessly. These are the lowest fae; they are nothing but magic and simple desires. They are cannon fodder.

They are in Andrew’s way.

The fae are simple to fight. Enough light and magic burns them into dust and then they are gone—but they are replaced by one, two, three more. They are endless. Andrew swings a dagger backhanded into a fae, listens to it screech and crumble, and then sees two more coming. Something hits his side and he knows his shoulder will bruise. Andrew can hear Nicky yelling in Spanish and Kevin grunting in annoyance as he swings a fae over his shoulder.

_ We’re wasting time.  _ Andrew cuts through more fae. They keep coming and coming. Andrew tries to hack his way through— _ I just need to get through, if I can just get through _ —

—and suddenly, the world is blazing with light.

The magic that explodes smells like freshly cut grass and rain; it smells like strawberries and feels like a cold ocean breeze coming off cliffs. It rolls over everyone and leaves them blinking. Andrew feels a warmth radiating in his bones, like an oven opened to a fresh apple pie.

When the light fades, there are no fae left. Only a very familiar stranger.

“Stuart,” Andrew says.

The man sneezes. He waves a hand before his face and says, “Sorry. Fae dust.”

Kevin shoots Andrew a look that clearly says he thinks they have all gone insane. Andrew ignores it and focuses on Stuart. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m late,” Stuart says. He smiles but it is thinly stretched. Beneath it is frustration. Anger.

Andrew can relate.

“I take it you came for the same thing we did.”

“Not on purpose.” Stuart turns to look into the woods. “I was waylaid. Had to deal with a nasty—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Andrew cuts him off. “We need to go now. Neil’s with Tetsuji.”

Stuart’s eyes narrow. “Not for long. Listen—I can handle this. If—”

“No,” Kevin interrupts.

Stuart looks ready to argue but Nicky sighs and starts walking past him. “Don’t try. We’re going.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows and follows. Stuart holds his hands up, his smile apologetic as he turns to join them. “Well, stay close. I’ll try and keep you shielded.”

“We don’t need—”

Andrew never finishes. He feels a jolt, like a dislocated arm. It is a sharp pain that echoes in a rising burn. His chest is tight and his ears are ringing. Everything is fuzzy and red-black for a moment and the only thing he can think is  _ I can’t pass out now. _ He doesn’t know what to think, can’t think for a moment—

—and then Andrew hears Neil screaming.

_ Aaron,  _ he thinks. Andrew starts to run.

_ 40\. jasminum sambac _

Neil is in fuzzy pieces, but Aaron is there. He is there and he shouldn’t be.

Neil left a letter to make sure Aaron wouldn’t come. Aaron shouldn’t even be able to stand here; not with his curse-gift. Aaron should be away. Safe. Neil thought he wouldn’t have to think about protecting him. Andrew would never let Aaron close to fae.

_ He has to go,  _ Neil thinks.  _ He has to leave. _ He tries to say as much but Aaron doesn’t listen. He keeps pulling Neil away, toward the edge of the clearing. His hands feel warm and his pulse is steady against Neil’s skin. He feels almost real.

Neil thinks, hopes for just a few seconds that he might make it out. That they will make it out. He thinks that this is real and Aaron is going to escape with him. That maybe there is a chance.

Tetsuji curls like smoke. He moves fluidly, comes up to Aaron and says,  **“You will die.”**

Neil’s mouth is already open before it happens. He watches Aaron’s face go blank before Aaron hits the ground, an unplugged computer, emptiness where there was life before. He is cut off suddenly. There is no in-between, no drawn-out battle—

—no goodbye.

Just nothing.

Neil screams. He is unaware of the sound but his throat feels raw. Tetsuji withdraws his bloody hand from Aaron’s chest. His heart. There is no outward wound. Just the black mark of magic.

Tetsuji laughs. Neil is still screaming but he does not recognize his voice as his own. He holds his hands over his ears because someone is screaming, someone who sounds terrifying, someone who has lost everything. He doesn’t want to hear it. It sounds painful.

_ It can’t be real. _ This can’t be real. Aaron would never come, he would never give up his protection, he would never go alone. He would tell the others. He would join them and they would all come. They would all come together, and even though they’d be too late, they would try.

Neil sees his friends. They appear at the edge of the clearing suddenly and they are with Neil’s uncle Stuart. They stop just short of Neil and Aaron, horror setting in. Neil knows it’s not real. It’s not real because Stuart is there and his friends appeared just when he thought of them. Just when he tried to reason that Aaron couldn’t be gone.

It has to be Tetsuji. It must be. There’s no other explanation because  _ Aaron can’t be dead _ , he can’t have sacrificed himself for Neil, not like this. Not for nothing.

_ Stop this,  _ Neil thinks. He does not know he is screaming it too.  _ Stop. _

Andrew. Andrew is there and Neil is—

—blank.  _ I killed Aaron. I killed his brother.  _ Neil can’t stop seeing it in his mind. He can’t look at Andrew and see his dead eyes.

Neil doesn’t think. He does not remember the knife in Aaron’s hand but it somehow ends up in Neil’s hand. It is in his hand and he stands, walks up behind Tetsuji, and drives the knife into the fae’s neck.

_ Don’t bother with the heart,  _ Mary said.  _ They don’t have one. _

Neil’s hand feels like it is on fire but he is numb. He ignores the black magic crawling under his skin and the steaming marks it raises. He drives the dagger further.

Someone is yelling at him to let go. He doesn’t.

Neil coughs. Something wet and warm pours over his lips. He keeps pushing the dagger further, holding on. Nothing else matters. He can die right here, he doesn’t care, Aaron is dead—

—and Tetsuji is too, falling suddenly, a sizzling mark left from the dagger in Neil’s hand. It is warped by magic, Tetsuji’s desperate attempts to escape bending the blade. But it is iron, and fae cannot survive it.

Neil can hear himself breathing. He sees spots and feels unconsciousness threaten. None of it matters; he reels back and stumbles toward Aaron. It occurs to him that his friends are still there, Kevin and Jean and even Renee. They’re all there and Andrew is kneeling by Aaron, hands curled tight, unable to touch.

_ They should be gone. This should all be gone. _

“This isn’t real,” Neil says. He can hear himself clearly, now. He feels too close to himself, too real. Everything is too real. There is light piercing the clearing now and it burns his skin. “This isn’t real.”

“Stop,” Kevin says quietly. He tries to touch Neil, hold him back, but Neil jerks away and sways violently. He falls to his knees.

Neil stumbles forward, crawls. Each breath feels wheezing. He can’t see who’s around him anymore. He only sees Aaron, silent, eyes blank and open.

_ It’s not supposed to be real.  _ Neil’s breathing is shallow. He thinks he is making a low keening noise. That, too, is strangely distant. Neil can see blood dripping onto the ground near Aaron and he knows it is coming from his own hands. He can’t feel the cuts it must be coming from.

This is real and Aaron is dead. Aaron is dead and it is Neil’s fault.

“I won’t. I won’t leave you,” Neil whispers. His voice is cracked and torn. His throat feels like it’s raw, as if he has swallowed a hundred razors. “You promised. You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

_ You weren’t supposed to die. I came here so you would be safe. Why did you come? _

“Neil.” Nicky is crying. He presses a hand to his mouth and shakes his head. He can’t look at Aaron. “It’s—this isn’t your fault—”

“He shouldn’t have come,” Kevin says, as if he can hear Neil’s thoughts. His voice sounds hollow. He stares down at Aaron as if he is seeing something else. Someone else. “Why did he come?”

“No,” Neil says. “I won’t let him. I’m not going to—”

“Don’t.”

Andrew. Andrew sounds empty. It’s the worst thing Neil has ever heard and he wants to block his ears; he wants to drown the world out until there is nothing.

He can’t.  _ I did this. I have to fix this. _

He can’t deal with a fae. There are none left nearby and he won’t summon any; not when all the rest of his friends are around. Neil can’t do any magic to bring Aaron back, either. Everything in this part of the forest is dead. There is no power for Neil to beg and no magic to give itself to him.

All Neil wants is one more thing to sacrifice. One more trick up his sleeve, one more deal to make, one more anything. He has nothing.

Nothing.

“Andrew—”

“No. Don’t.”

_ No.  _ The word drops like a stone. Neil wants to trade places. He just wants to take the useless life he has left in him and shove it into Aaron, pull him back to life, let him breathe again.  _ I was only ever good for running. All of them deserved more than me. _

Especially Aaron. Aaron, who dragged Neil home after finding him in the forest. Aaron, who gave him a job and a place to live and friends. Aaron, who stopped by Neil’s house so frequently it was like they never moved apart.

_ I left him a letter and even that wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough to pay him back for everything. _

And now Aaron is still on the forest floor, all for Neil who is already mostly dead, a runaway fugitive that never brought anything to his friends but danger.

Something rises in Neil’s throat. It’s not bile. It feels like water; like Neil was drowning and all the water is going to come rushing out of his lungs.

_ Do not forget your gift. You will know. _

The memory comes back fuzzy. Neil doesn’t even think about what it was or what it might mean. His breath catches. He leans over Aaron, hands on either side of his head. He can hear a struggle next to him and it is probably Andrew but Neil doesn’t look. All he can see is Aaron, quiet, nothing where there should be something.

If he were thinking, Neil wouldn’t know what to do. He doesn’t think. Neil carefully pulls Aaron’s mouth open and leans close. Neil can already taste fresh water in his mouth, a hint of salt on his tongue. His body hums in anticipation.

Distantly, Neil knows what he is doing. If he gives this gift away, he might not survive. It is power the axolotl god gifted him and it is all Neil has left.

It’s fitting that he is giving it to the first person that took him in.

“I love you,” Neil whispers.  _ I’m sorry. _

Neil does what the axolotl god did for him. He lets the power gather in his mouth, a humming ball of potential and energy. Then he lets it fall into Aaron’s mouth, hoping against hope that it will do something.

When the gift leaves him, Neil immediately feels cold. His body aches and his bones feel sore. The pain of the cuts and bruises on his body seems to multiply, growing in a slow crescendo. Neil doesn’t think he can move. His body feels as if it’s vibrating, he’s shaking so much. His heart skips and beats erratically.

_ I can’t. Not yet. I have to see it. I have to know. _

A slow breath escapes Aaron’s mouth. He breathes in then, chest rising, color flooding his cheeks. Aaron’s eyes focus and he blinks. His brow furrows in confusion and he turns his head until his eyes fall on Neil; they widen as Aaron pushes himself upright, fast, all of his strength suddenly returning.

“Neil—”

“Safe,” Neil gasps.  _ He’s safe. _

Neil hits the ground sideways. It’s a slow fall and Neil is thankful—

—because he can see Aaron as he goes, full of life again and unmarked. Neil can see Andrew at his side, body brimming with energy and potential. Neil can see all his friends gathered, safe, and Tetsuji’s dust blowing away in the wind.

They are safe. It’s okay if he goes.

_ 41\. amaranthus caudatus _

Aaron says he doesn’t remember.

Andrew sits across from his twin in Jeremy’s darkened living room. Everyone else is here, too, in various guest rooms.

Neil is on the top floor, in an attic bedroom with a view. Stuart said the light would help. Neil needed the sun and the moon. The crystals surrounding him needed energy.

Aaron didn’t want to leave Neil. Nicky had to pick him up and bring him downstairs because Andrew wouldn’t. He hasn’t gone into Neil’s room.

“It wasn’t anything,” Aaron says. There is no emotion to his explanation, no inflection in his voice. He runs a finger along the rim of his glass of water. “I thought I blacked out. I was just...gone, and then back. That’s it.”

_ That doesn’t make it better. _

Andrew…

...can’t think. He can’t untangle everything.

He saw Aaron dead.

Walking into the clearing was like being disconnected from reality in a crude snap, bone broken against sharp rocks. Andrew saw the scene from somewhere away from his body. He saw Aaron and part of him wondered if it was a trick. If Tetsuji used an illusion or a changeling. If the real Aaron was with some other fae, still alive but abducted.

Andrew knew it was real when Neil fell apart. He knew when he saw the tiny scar on the left side of Aaron’s jaw. He knew when Aaron didn’t burn when Andrew touched his arm, wearing an iron ring.

Andrew had drawn back immediately after. It was too real and Aaron was dead. Andrew can still feel cool skin beneath his hand.

But Aaron is here now. He does not remember and he is unmarked, though he smells faintly of lake water.  _ It must be the axolotl god’s work.  _ How Neil channeled it, Andrew doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

“I’m s—”

“Don’t,” Andrew says. There is less energy behind the word now. He can barely force himself to keep his eyes open but he has to; he has to be sure that this is Aaron and he is not going to disappear or stop breathing.

Aaron shakes his head. “Not this time.”  _ You have to hear,  _ his expression says. “I did something stupid. But I would do it again.”

“For what,” Andrew grinds out. “It didn’t make a difference.”

“Maybe. But I would never take the chance.”

They are more alike than Andrew would ever admit. Maybe Aaron is even worse off; he holds tighter to the things he holds dear. They both hardly have any friends. Any people they call their own. The few people that Andrew and Aaron let in, they protect with their lives.

So maybe Andrew should have seen this coming.

“What you did was not just stupid. It was selfish,” Andrew says.

Aaron nods. He tucks his knees up under his chin and looks out the sliding glass door to their left. The backyard is barely visible in the black night. It looks like it always does. Now, though, Andrew can imagine fae coming out of the darkness. He can imagine a threat. That is why he keeps his eyes open.

“I wanted to be selfish for once.” Aaron’s mouth twists into a tired smile. “I guess I saw you doing it and wondered why I hadn’t either.”

“You were when you took him in.”

“Maybe. I don’t think that’s the same as dating him.”

“We—” Andrew stops himself.  _ We’re not dating. _ He isn’t sure it’s the truth. It might have been. Now…

...now, Neil is unconscious and Aaron died. Nothing is the same.

“Whatever it is you think, it’s going to take some time,” Aaron mutters. His eyelids droop tiredly as he lowers himself onto the blankets and pillows piled on the ground. Aaron pulls a blanket over his shoulders and tucks his chin beneath it. “Talk to Bee. You know you can’t leave him. Don’t hurt him, either.”

Andrew doesn’t answer. He watches and waits. Aaron falls asleep within a few minutes, either out of exhaustion or a desire to escape the conversation. Andrew waits as long as he can handle it and then extends his hand, pausing with it under Aaron’s nose. The whisper of air against Andrew’s skin is not comforting. It’s just there.

“You should sleep.” Jean stands behind the couch, a blanket draped over his shoulders. His voice is low with sleep and his hair is out of place.

“Tell it to yourself.”

Jean paces around the couch and stands at the back door. Andrew can see Jean’s breath fogging the glass in little puffs. The clouds bloom and dissipate, ghostly white against the dark night.

“You know,” Jean begins. “I used to blame Kevin for leaving the Court before me.”

“I thought you didn’t remember.”

Jean shifts his arms and pulls his blanket tighter. It’s not guarding against anything; he just looks...cold. Tired. “I remember. They’re the ones that hurt his hand. He wasn’t perfect to them, after that. It’s why he got out.”

“And you didn’t.”

“No. Not then.”

Andrew glances over Jean’s bundled form. He has never seen any scars on Jean or any other outward signs of curses.  _ But it’s not always obvious.  _ “They cursed him. What about you?”

“They didn’t curse him,” Jean says, mildly surprised. He turns to look at Andrew.  _ Who told you that?  _ “He gave into them because he thought it would give him the power to get away. Instead he got his wings.”

“But it was still the fae.”

“Yes. It was,” Jean agrees. “But not a curse. He used them, finally, after they damaged his hand. That’s how he left. He flew.”

Andrew can see it. He can see Kevin doing what he was told, following every direction, bowing to the fae. Andrew can see Kevin broken, hand clutched to his chest, eyes frenzied. Kevin flying away.

_ But they’re together.  _ There is no trace of bitterness on Jean’s face. He looks like he is at peace and that—

—it doesn’t make sense.

“You wonder why I love him.” A smile flickers on Jean’s lips. It’s the closest Andrew has seen him come to laughing, at least around anyone else.

“He promised. Didn’t he?”

Jean nods. “He promised we would make it out. But we did.”

“But he left you.”

“No. Not really,” Jean muses. “He is the reason I could survive alone. He is the reason I held out until he came for me. He is the reason we made it here. He could never leave me anyway.”

“Because you always have him with you,” Andrew says. The words sound more bitter than he means them to.

Jean snorts. “No. Because I can never leave him. You know?”

_ Because I could never forget him. Because I could never cut him out of me. _

_ Because he carries part of my heart. _

“You are still fools,” Andrew says. He means it.

He means it, but Andrew also knows that Jean is right. Neil already gave part of himself to Andrew and Andrew already planted a seed in Neil. Andrew gave Neil just a tiny part of himself, even if he told himself that it was nothing, that it was something he could afford to lose. Andrew gave Neil part of himself and that part grew. It grew until it dug its roots so deep in Neil that Neil decided to sacrifice himself without saying anything to Andrew.

Neil was nothing and now he is a garden, all of his friends planted so firmly within him that he could not leave even when he tried. Everyone followed him into the forest.

Even Andrew.

Jean shifts away from the door. “It’s easy to say you don’t forgive someone you love. But forgiving is just letting go of an empty space. Why keep it? You could plant a garden. Fill it with something you actually care about.”

“I can’t grow anything that needs to be watered,” Andrew says. “The garden grew itself. I can’t.”

“You can.” Jean yawns and starts to make his way toward the stairs. “And if you can’t, he’ll teach you.”

_ 42\. gomphrena globosa _

Nathaniel wakes in an unfamiliar bed with soft sheets and a gauzy canopy. He can feel new curse marks, spidery across his arms. His hands are sore and shaky from the burning.

They must have taken him to the Court. Nathaniel remembers fighting; he remembers something that looked like Aaron dying. He remembers images of friends. He remembers plunging a blade into Tetsuji’s neck. There is no way that Kengo would let that go.

If he’s alive. He must be; this can’t be it. This cannot be the end of the Moriyama. The dark fae. The ones that chased Nathaniel until his legs were sore and his lungs thin.

Wood creaks somewhere beneath Nathaniel. He tenses in bed; his sore muscles protest. Nathaniel forces himself upright despite the aching in his body. He knows better than to look for a weapon. Only iron will harm the fae and they do not keep any at the Court.

Footsteps pause a distance from the door. Another door opens and voices murmur. Nathaniel curls his hands into the sheets beneath him and steels himself.

When the door finally opens, it is Allison that stands there.

_ What? _

It doesn’t make sense. Neil cares about her but she isn’t the same as Aaron. As Andrew. Nathaniel shakes his head instinctively, as if that will clear the weak apparition. He blurts a question before he can stop himself. “Why are you here?”

“Jeremy let us all stay.” Allison shuts the door behind her. She is carrying a glass of water in her hand. “He thought it would help. We’ve been watching you in shifts.”

Nathaniel holds himself still as Allison walks around the foot of the bed. She sits in a chair next to Nathaniel and offers the glass of water.

This is probably a trick. It must be. Allison is here to throw him off. There’s no other explanation. There is no reason for the fae to mimic her except to toy with Nathaniel. To make him believe that he could be safe. They are toying with him and the moment he relaxes, Nathaniel will be violently torn from this safety and taken somewhere colder. Somewhere the fae can decide how much to punish him.

“You need it,” Allison says. She is still holding the glass, unwavering. “You’ve been out for three days. Stuart went to take care of something. He said he’d be back when you woke up.”

Stuart.  _ He was never here.  _ Nathaniel stares at the glass of water. There is nothing he can do—

—so he takes the water. The moment it touches his lips, the water explodes in a burst of sweetness and faint salt. It is a clear lake in summer, trees rustling in the breeze, distant music and laughter. A hand on his neck. A low, quiet voice in his ear,  _ just stay _ .

Neil gasps. It feels like the first breath he has taken and it fills his lungs gloriously, expanding unused things more than he knew they could be filled. Neil can suddenly feel the air on his skin and the gentle salve on his wounds, the soft magic humming sweetly. Neil blinks and the sky outside the window looks so blue.

“All—” Neil’s voice breaks. It cracks unevenly like a dropped plate and then Allison pulls Neil into a hug. He can smell the faintness of rosewater on her skin. It brings back a flood of images, the shop and Renee, Neil standing in front of a mirror and running a hand over soft overalls.

“It’s okay,” Allison whispers. Her fingers comb through his hair. Neil didn’t know he wanted it until she did. “It’s okay. You’re home.”

_ Home. _

He has a home.  _ Do I? Do I still? _

Guilt crushes Neil almost more than the panic in his chest. He can feel himself sipping in gasps of air, lungs strained. “I d—I didn’t...I wasn’t supposed to—”

“You’re here,” Allison says shortly. Her voice is strained, a hint of tension in her words. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But I—Aaron,” Neil gasps.

He doesn’t hear if Allison says something. Neil is out of bed in an instant, stumbling while sheets cling to him. He pushes at the bedroom door and almost bruises his shoulder before he lurches out. There are stairs at his feet and he slips down a few; behind him, Neil hears a door open too late. He ignores the sound and continues.

The walls seem to wobble. Neil knows he is lightheaded and unsteady but he can’t wait. He has to know. He won’t lie in bed. He has to see for himself.

Neil’s feet barely carry him to the ground floor. His chest heaves with the sudden exertion, pulse pounding in his ears. His arrival is greeted by several figures lurching out of the couch in the living room before him.

Aaron is there. Aaron, whole, color in his face and eyes wide with worry. Aaron rushes around the couch and his hands reach toward Neil. His mouth opens and he says, “Neil—”

Neil can’t form words. A noise is wrenched from his throat, broken and desperate. Neil holds himself up until Aaron touches his shoulders and then he sags to the ground, shaky limbs giving up. Neil breathes in and fills the world with Aaron; he can smell the light aroma of vanilla and herbs. Potion-making.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Aaron says. He sounds like he’s crying. His breath catches in fits and bursts in his chest. He sniffles when he pulls Neil close. “Idiot.”

“I thought—thought you were dead,” Neil whispers. He shuts his eyes tight against the image in his mind of Aaron on the ground. “I thought I killed you.”

“You didn’t. You saved me,” Aaron says. His hands are tight on Neil’s shirt. “You saved me, Neil. And I would do it again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I would,” Aaron insists, harsher. “I would. I love you.”

It’s a funny thing, having a family. Neil presses his face into Aaron’s sweater and wonders why.

_ Why did they come for me? Why do they care? _

Having something where there was nothing feels like stealing. Neil feels like an imposter, though of what or whom he isn’t sure. He only knows that he doesn’t feel deserving of the arms around him or the warmth of the house he is in.

“I love you,” Aaron says again. “None of it matters. You get it? I love you.”

Neil thinks maybe he understands. He might, because all Neil knows is that he wants to spend his life trying to show everyone that he loves them. That he chose to stay and he would choose it again, if he had to go back and decide.

Every time he was given a chance, Neil would turn it away just to stay with his friends one more day. Just to be near them, help them, look after them.

“I love you,” Neil says. He means it.

_ 43\. zephyranthes candida _

Stuart looks tired. He doesn’t bother to take his coat off when he comes in. When the door opens, it brings in a breeze that smells like cut grass and wet dirt. It rained, Aaron realizes. He didn’t even notice.

“Sorry it took so long,” Stuart says. He smiles crookedly when he sees Neil, but the joy doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I should have been here.”

Neil is on the couch in the living room. He has a blanket draped over him and a glass of lemonade in hand. Jeremy made it that morning, right before most people left. Only Jeremy, Kevin, and Aaron are still in the house. Andrew left right before Neil woke up for the first time. He hasn’t been back since.

“It’s okay.” Neil looks down into his glass. “I ran from you, too.”

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to.”

Stuart walks into the living room carefully, like he is stepping into a protected place that he is not allowed to touch. Aaron thinks he likes that about the man; he doesn’t intrude. Everything about him seems careful and patient. It’s almost funny to think Stuart is related to Neil, whose quick tongue has made Aaron fear for his life before.

“I think you already know,” Stuart begins.

Neil finishes. “My father is dead.”

Stuart is quiet. He looks at Neil for a long moment before he nods once. “That man was never your father.”

“Maybe.”

Neil has never cared much for the same words other people use. He has his own way of naming things, Aaron thinks, and that might be because of his secret language. Or maybe Neil is just different. Maybe to him, a father is just a father.

Neil is not a friend to Aaron, after all. Not a brother. He is Neil. There is no one like him.

“You know, I’m told he was killed by people you know.”

Neil taps his finger on the rim of his glass. A distant look clouds his eyes and he murmurs, “Seth. And…”

“They probably won’t be back for some time. I don’t think they’re done yet,” Stuart muses. “They had their own curses to deal with.”

Neil looks up. “And mine? The one on this land?”

“Gone,” Stuart confirms. “It won’t come back. Tetsuji is dead and Nathan is dead, too. I’ve done my part to clean up after them.”

Neil shifts uncomfortably on the sofa.  _ This is his uncle, so why do I get the feeling they barely know each other? _ As if he heard, Neil glances at Aaron. The uncertainty in his gaze is more awkward than afraid. “Thank you. I...I wish I could have seen you sooner. I wish I hadn’t run.”

“Don’t,” Stuart replies simply. “You would not be here. You would not have these friends.”

Neil nods. “Maybe from now on…”

“We’ll keep in touch.” Stuart smiles a little firmer, as if he’s certain of what he’s saying now. “I’ll be back. Keep an eye out for me, and maybe some good bread.”

Neil finally smiles. It is a worn little thing, but it is something and it’s more than Aaron has seen in days. “I will.”

Stuart leans close to Neil. Aaron barely catches a snatch of a language he doesn’t understand. Whatever Stuart says, it makes Neil’s smile soften a little. Stuart kisses Neil’s forehead, a makeshift blessing, and turns to leave.

“Take care of him,” Stuart says as he reaches for the doorknob. “He deserves it.”

_ He does.  _ “We will,” Aaron promises.

The house feels settled once Stuart leaves. It’s almost like a closed book, though Aaron knows there are more pages unfinished. There are things they cannot skip over, like the death Aaron doesn’t remember and the gift Neil relinquished for him.

Andrew, too. Aaron doesn’t know what to say or do to help, or if he should. He only knows that Neil and Andrew are different and he doesn’t want them to end just for this. Just for the sake of a fae.

“Aaron?”

Aaron quickly turns away from the door. He moves around the couch toward Neil, feet shuffling against carpet. “What is it?”

“Is…”

_ He’s asking about Andrew.  _ Aaron can tell by the way Neil bites at his bottom lip, worrying at it like a dog with a bone. “He’s home, I think. He went to see Bee a few days ago.”

“Should I not?”

He could be asking a lot of things. Maybe Neil is asking about going to see Andrew, or maybe he is asking about going back to Andrew at all. Neil wants something, some answer, and Aaron isn’t sure what to give him but he tries.

“He cares about you. You care about him. Whatever happens, you can’t avoid each other forever.”

Neil huffs, an exhale of breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “It’s a big forest.”

“No one is every going into that forest alone again.”

Neil nods, a wry smile curling on his lips. “Yeah.”

Aaron closes his eyes. He can almost see Andrew scowling at his garden, arms crossed while the tulips bob nervously. Maybe the garden is asking about Neil, even now. Maybe it misses him just the way Andrew would never say he misses Neil.

“You should go,” Aaron says quietly. “When you find a reason to stay, you hang onto that reason with everything you have. You know that.”

_ You stayed for us. You believed we were worth it. You believed we were worth dying for. _

Neil nods slowly. “I do,” he says, and Aaron thinks Neil knows. “I just don’t know if I should be that greedy.”

“Love isn’t greedy, Neil.” Aaron laughs unsteadily. If he thinks too much about it, he might cry. “It’s just about the most selfless thing there is. Kind of like giving your life.”

Neil reaches out. Aaron lets Neil take his hand; there’s an immense sense of relief at feeling the touch of another hand, Neil, alive and well. Solid.

“You’re right,” Neil says. “We both did. So I guess I already knew.”

“Sometimes you still have to hear it,” Aaron says. He squeezes Neil’s hand and thinks about what a garden wedding might look like. He wonders who will be first.  _ Andrew would love to beat Kevin to it.  _ “So tell him.”

_ 44\. prunus dulcis _

Andrew stands in his garden, listening. There are sparrows above Andrew’s head. They chirp and dart in a complicated ballet. The garden itself murmurs quietly like it knows Andrew can’t take much noise.

He left after three days. Neil was kept in the solitude of Jeremy’s house and the others visited in shifts, waiting. Andrew left to think. He had to, before Neil woke up.

Bee said it was a good thing, when he met her at her tiny cottage. She was harvesting honey.  _ You don’t want to see him before you know what you feel,  _ Bee said.  _ He is already hurt. You don’t want to hurt him again. _

Some spiteful part of Andrew had wanted to say,  _ you don’t know what I want.  _ He kept that inside, along with the rest of the ugly words he would not speak to Neil.

It is not easy untangling everything. It feels like a cat’s cradle that someone else started and Andrew is picking it up now, trying to extract his fingers without breaking the delicate string that ties everything together.

Bee said  _ bonds aren’t that weak. They’ll survive a little pulling.  _ Andrew told her things broke often around Kevin and the others. They had a habit of falling out of trees, dropping mugs, stumbling into things. Bee laughed at that.  _ Do you know what scars are, Andrew? _

_ Scars are proof that broken things don’t have to stay that way. _

So Andrew thought about it. He sat by his rosemary and thought about what Neil did. What Aaron did. What Tetsuji did. He thought about Kevin and Jean forgetting, Neil being alone, Neil running. Andrew thought about everything and at the end of it, he’d gone back to Bee.

_ It still isn’t… _

_ Easy?  _ Bee gave him hot chocolate. It was too warm still but she knew Andrew didn’t care. He would drink it cold.  _ It’s never easy, Andrew. It’s not supposed to be. It’s love. If it were easy, everyone would have it. _

She said it first.

He never said it before. He never meant to say it, but now—

—well. Now, everyone has been through curses and fae. Now, Andrew has lost and found Aaron. Andrew has almost lost Neil.

Things change. They’ve changed.

Andrew does love Neil. Whether that’s smart or okay is a different thing entirely. All Andrew knows is that he loves Neil. Every day since the forest, Andrew has thought of Neil, even if it’s thoughts about telling Neil he is stupid and he should never have tried to take his promise back just so he could walk off to his death.

That’s why Neil told Andrew to give up his promise. Andrew knows that now, the same way he knows that every lingering look and salt-tinged kiss was Neil saying goodbye. Andrew knows that every second was stolen.

Still, Neil decided to steal seconds with Andrew. He chose to stay with Andrew and let Andrew test him from the beginning.

_ He let me take his time. His life. _

The first time Andrew saw Neil, he did not think Neil was real. He thought it was an apparition, or some fae trick. Even later, after meeting him with Aaron, Andrew thought Neil was an illusion. A pretty dream made to trick someone.

Even later, after every kiss and trembling touch, Andrew wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure because it couldn’t be true that there was something for him. It couldn’t be true that Neil wanted to be with him, even for a second. It couldn’t be real that Neil was kissing Andrew, was touching only when and where he was asked. It couldn’t be real that Neil never took and only gave everything, even when he had nothing. Was nothing.

“I want to see him,” Andrew says. The grass under his bare feet swishes in response. It echoes the words,  _ I want to see him, I want to see him, I want to see him. _

The roses sigh. Their heavy heads droop and swing from side to side. They murmur snatches of something with a slow rhythm, wistful. The other flowers shiver and echo the sweetest words.

Andrew turns his head towards the sky and listens. He shuts his eyes and feels the sun warm his face like hands on his cheeks. The wind rustles through every blade of grass and flower’s stem.  _ I want to see you. _

He can almost hear Neil answer. He can almost hear an echoing  _ yes  _ on the wind just like Neil says it, quiet, careful.

Andrew laughs; it sounds more like a puff of breath. “SInce when do I want anything?”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m nothing,” Neil says softly.

Andrew opens his eyes. Neil stands at the edge of the garden, just beyond Andrew. He is three inches away, maybe. He looks solid. Real. There are new curse marks on his body, on his bare arms and hands. Neil wears a shirt that looks soft as silk and shorts stained with the green of days helping Andrew in the garden. Neil’s eyes are bluer than the sky but soft, hazy, hesitant.

_ Make sure,  _ a nonsense voice in Andrew’s head says. He listens to it, reaches out to Neil. His fingers slide tentatively against Neil’s cheek. There is color blooming under the skin there, uneven from the scars but still rosy and beautiful.

_ Beautiful? _

“Beautiful,” Andrew says. Saying it seems right. He watches Neil’s blue eyes fill with tears, sparkling blue crystals that can’t look away.

Neil’s lips part. “Ye—”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful,” Neil replies. His hands slide onto Andrew’s cheeks; they shake slightly, trembling and warm on Andrew’s skin. “I love you, Andrew. I—”

_ I’m sorry,  _ it sounds like.  _ I understand if you hate me. I didn’t mean for it to happen. _

“Love you,” Andrew says instead. It is the only way the sentence should end.

Neil’s kiss seems to tremble on Andrew’s lips like the grass at his feet. It is an uncertain, sorrowful thing. The press of Neil’s lips seems to ask for forgiveness again; it seems to promise something, too. Maybe it is the promise that makes Andrew pull back after a moment to find his voice.

“Will you promise again?”

_ Will you stay? _

Neil’s voice is a ragged whisper. “Yes,” he says. “I promise. I promise to stay with you. I promise to answer whatever questions you ask. I promise to do my best to protect the people we love.”

_ The people we love.  _ Andrew would have corrected him, before. Now he hears the words and they sound right. “I believe you.”

“I want you,” Neil replies, hushed. He looks like he did in the forest, like just one move could end everything for him. Like he has everything to lose.  _ Like I have that power.  _ “Will you—?”

_ Let me stay? _

He should say no. It is the smart thing. If Andrew thought with nothing but his head, if he answered in the only way that would absolutely be safe, he would say no. He would turn away. He would deny what he wants because it is easier that way and the people he has to protect will remain protected.

All Andrew can think of when he looks at Neil is the way the garden whispers his name. The birds darting down from the sky, singing their songs of mourning, letters from Neil grasped tightly like the last words of a dying man.

Andrew thinks of what he lost. What he almost lost. What he will lose.

He decides it is worth it. Neil is worth it.

“Yes,” Andrew says. Somehow, it feels like the first time.

**end**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184522567@N07/48756875358/in/album-72157710919215511/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to everyone that made this possible: KarenF for beta, autumnalpalmetto for the beautiful art, and my Garden AU group chat for their continued encouragement through the process of writing this enormous fic.
> 
> There are many scenes (and an epilogue) that did not make it into the final cut. I'd like to share them sometime if I ever have the chance. Until then, thank you for your support and comments. I worked very hard to make this fic work and I appreciate all your feedback.
> 
> Thank you.


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